IMC's Winter Soldier
by Bobby Redshirt
Summary: Demeter has fallen, the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation (IMC) has assumed a defensive footing until reinforcements can arrive from the core systems (if there will be?). Lt. Kax Autto is one of the few human pilots still with the IMC and despite the string of defeats, his resolve to establish peace on the Frontier is unwavering. He is the IMC's Winter Soldier.
1. Chapter 1

"Mind running that by me again, Jimbo?" I leaned in close to the BRD-01 Spectre J-1187. I had named the robot after one of my buddies, James Canelo. He was an excellent pilot until a Militia sniper plugged his left eye socket with a Longbow round. I am sure if I had said these same words to James, he would have wet his pants in fear. But this robot didn't even have trousers to speak of. J-1187 twitched its head, it must have thought it automated the words clear enough and loud enough for human ear drums to comprehend the phonic utterance.

"It is recommended by IMC Pilot Protocols that Pilots who have suffered the loss of a Close Friend/Spouse/Parental Guardian, are to avoid combat action for at least one week to recuperate avid emotions that may endanger the mission."

"Jimbo," I whispered close to its auditory receptors, good thing it didn't have nasal receptors or else it could smell the whiskey on my breath, a much bigger no-no in IMC Pilot Protocols. "You beep one more sound about Alice, I'm going to put my dataknife clear through operational cerebrum."

The Spectre shifted uneasily on its metal legs. "Understood, sir."

I slid the grey IMC jacket over my shoulders and patted the 40th Squadron patch for good luck. I was going to need it. I put on my gloves and cinched down utility belt armed with two arc grenades, a satchel charge, and a Hammond P2011 pistol. I flipped it out of the holster with a flamboyant spin and checked the bullet in the chamber. IMC Pilot Protocol dictated that Pilots were to never enter ships or drop-pods with live ammunition in the chamber. Jimbo may have twitched when it saw this but it made no comment.

Captain Blisk spoke into the comm on my ear. "Lieutenant Autto, get your unit topside. Scans are showing unknown jump signatures nearby and I want boots on the ground now. We are deploying two racks of Spectres and an infantry squad. I want you there in case the terrorists decide to show up."

"Roger that, sir. Show up, get lit up."

"Aye! I like the way you think Autto. Blisk out."

I picked up my helmet and my G2A4 Rifle. I opened the door out to the hall and motioned for Jimbo to go, "ladies first." It stepped through to be with Gracie and H-0020 Harris. They were also Spectres with C.A.R. SMGs. I came out and Gracie and Harris followed me down the hall. Gracie was actually G-8834. We passed Gracie's old room where she practiced throwing knives at the door behind her back. I pulled her body with severe burn wounds from the wreckage of her Atlas Titan. I got her back to the dropship but she died on the jump from Outpost 207. We then passed Harris' room. He may have been more interested in me than any of the women but he was the finest Stryder pilot I had ever met. He and I were good partners in the field. One time, we danced and jived through five Militia Ogres that looked like blind moles with bullet holes by the time we got done with them. But on the last mission, when Alice-well, you see Harris got caught in the open and I was on the other side of the building but by the time I got to the dirt street his body was shredded in half beneath a 40 mm cannon crater. I learned later it was friendly fire from an Automated Titan.

I tried to shake the image from my head when I and three Spectres stood in the elevator. As they stood close to me and I could smell their slick oil and hear the gentle whirs their joints made. These weren't IMC Pilots I used stand with on the brink of destruction. I missed their shaking hands and stuttered breaths, the cocky jokes from being the best of the best in a losing war. Demeter had fallen, the IMC were back-peddling against the Militia and our own Vice Admiral Graves had joined them. Thus the reason for the constant Spectre detail was to make sure Pilots did not defect.

But these metal ghosts standing next to me in the elevator could never suffice for everything lost. Pilots never really got close to anyone, we knew the odds and preferred to stay distant from grunts commanding officers, and even other pilots. But where were all the people I fought and bled with? I could no longer look into their eyes to see if they were as frightened as I was.

I then suddenly realized that I was the only human pilot left in my unit. Everyone else was dead.

Once the ramp dropped, my armor felt a million times heavier. I switched on the helmet and the HUD began making movement sweeps. I pulled the action back on the G2A4 Rifle and was the first to step into the snow. Snowflakes blustered against the lights of my suit and helmet. Once all the grunts were off the ship I signaled for the pilot to take off. Inf the flurry of takeoff, Sergeant Debois was yelling at his squad to maintain discipline and scan for hostiles. Not long after the drop ship left us in the freezer did the two promised racks of Spectres plopped into snow. They unfolded from the racks and stood up and simultaneously cocked their SMGs in an unnerving manner. It reminded me of the card men from a really old book I read once.

"Ready when you are, Lietenant."

"Let's move then, Sergeant." I hoisted the rifle onto my shoulder and the three Spectres followed me even into the coldest depths of hell. Once the storm abated, the veil parted to a beautiful planet. Unon II was a tiny, cold moon but IMC intelligence suspected this is where the Militia was doing weapons testing. Somewhere in the mountains and trees that moved even when there was no wind, the Militia could be lying in wait. A couple of grunts saw a furry creature on the ridge and almost made some pot shots at the beast but luckily Sergeant Dubois got them first and sent them up on point.

"I cannot believe all the training we did and the minute we get out into the real frontier, they act like imbeciles." Sergeant Dubois confided to me as our column of men and machines marched through the gentle snow. I pulled the scarf tighter to my neck.

"You need to stay on top of them. We really have no idea what in these hills." I muttered.

"Of course, sir. We got your back, sir." Dubois' breath puffed out bouts of steam. I liked Dubois. He was one of the last IMC men to reach the frontier from the core systems before the loss of Demeter. Like Captain Blisk, he had a strong accent from his home country. Where Blisk was from South Africa, Dubois was from Francia.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, I notice that you have etched marks on your rifle. How many are there?"

"Nine."

"Are they kills, sir?"

"No, I only count head shots on Pilots on this rifle." Dubois eyes grew twice their size. That told me that he did not have a hardened sense of warfare.

"I am sorry about all the questions, sir," Dubois continued as we both jumped over a small running creek. "In case we run into trouble, do you have a Titan on call?"

"That's actually an excellent question." I pressed the com on my helmet's earpiece. "Sid, tell me how those repairs are coming along."

Sid's gruff voice immediately boomed back into my skull like an elbow to the jaw. _Slowly, sir. Malfunctions in the trigger hand have delayed my full combat capacity. Aggression level: simmering. Permission to crush incompetent mechanic and request new one, sir?_

"Permission denied Sid."

 _Acknowledged. This Titan is ready for deployment in approximately ten minutes or sooner if current mechanic loses limb._

"Be nice Sid. Be right over the drop hatch when you are ready. I love you buddy."

 _I love you too sir. I want to crush your torso._

I had let the comm be open for Dubois and he stared with his jaw open. Some of the other grunts had the same expressions on their faces. I smiled behind my helmet, "a friend of mine was able to program some extra attitudes into the Sid OS. Can't say that I'm not attached to his disgust at human life."

A grunt in the forward column mumbled about how weird pilots were. I didn't say anything. I figured it wouldn't be long until the IMC was fresh out of pilots. But this is when they will need me most. I work for paycheck and I do a damn good job. I'm not going to give up my honor for some whiny, righteous cause the Militia keeps blathering about. The IMC and me and Sid are strong and the strong dictates how this Frontier is going to have peace. Not idealists who will don't want to accept their place in life.

When we first entered IMC Pilot school, Alice and I grew closer. We competed and almost killed each other multiple times. But like they taught us, where the fire burned the others, it only made us stronger, made us better. Being the best is not easy. Everyone, the Militia and their hordes of stinking mercenaries and pirates want to depose the best. These were the times that made the best human pilots in this wild Frontier. It was not during the summer when we obliterated pockets of terrorists. It was now, in the dark, savage heart of winter that made humans their best.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The wind picked up ferocity as the sun was diving into the horizon. The mother planet, a gas giant named Lariat, bloomed purple and proud in the light of dusk. We trekked through the snow for several more hours, eventually stopping on the side of a mountain with a good vantage point of its other frozen brothers. We encountered nothing else except for a IMC fighter that streaked through the sky once and was never heard from again. Humanity had created vast amounts of technology in regards to warfare. Smart pistols with bullets that locked and followed a target, laser charge rifles, and of course, the converted Frontier mining equipment, the Titan. But despite all these technological advances and the amazing super computers on the capital ships, men in boots needed to be on the ground to find the enemy and destroy him. We stopped for a rest right before midnight and I found three grunts gathering wet wood for a fire. Even if they could get it lit, I put a stop to it before it started. I kicked snow onto their wet pile of wood. "No fires. We are going to bed down in our zip-pods for the night."

"But sir," a woman grunt sighed behind her helmet, "it's ain't much warmer in those things then it is out here."

"Back the way we came are a couple of caves. As long as you are willing to clear out whatever lives there with only a knife you can be my guest. But if I hear one unnecessary gunshot, I'll break your legs and leave you behind. No fires. We clear soldier?"

She lowered her head. "Yes, sir."

"Good," I tossed her a protein bar that I kept in my pack. "Hopefully this can warm you up some." She said thank you and asked if this was my last one. I told her I wasn't hungry anyways.

I sat for the first time since landing in this forest on a stump severed years ago by a lightning strike. I kept the rifle across my lap and laid the Anti-Titan Charge Rifle by my feet. My fingers began to vibrate a little to the shivers of the cold but I preferred this over the cold of a shuttle cabin. I hated space travel and constantly wished I had solid ground under my boots, un-recycled air in my lungs, and the sane feeling of being where Gods might have been instead of lost in between the black of the stars. Sergeant Dubois huffed his way to where I sat. The steam coming out of his mouth was thick and frequent. He must have had sea legs from too much time in space. "Everything is in order Lieutenant. No fires and most of the grunts are bedding down close to the rocks. Private Hershel and Nadara have the first watch. My men will take care of the security so you can rest easy, sir."

"Thank you Sergeant. You don't need to worry much about my rest. We will move out in six hours." "Yes sir, good night, sir." Dubois pounded his chest plate with his fist and disappeared back down the mountainside. I wish I could say that Sergeant Dubois was a unique breath of fresh air but he was one of hundreds of men I have met briefly in the IMC. Men who could fire a gun and have a sense of life too. They usually died pretty quickly. The universe outside the core systems was too brutal. Not enough humanity to make the place civilized. The Frontier was perfect for Titan Pilots. They were reckless, ruthless. If the outer limits of what we know in space is conquered and we have post offices and shopping malls, I suppose men and women like us will either push farther into the stars or just die out because we have no place in that future. The night set down on us like a fat lady's posterior and obscured any light. No moon, no stars, the tumbling clouds was our ceiling for the night.

The comm shocked me with Captain Blisk's harsh South African accent. "Lieutenant! Seen anything yet, mate?" "Negative, sir. We have only spotted wildlife and snow so far. We picked up the trail of an assault vehicle but it was old and we lost the track with the oncoming snow on us. We are resting up now and we are going to make our way up the northern pass. I figure if the Militia is going to camp anywhere there are going to take refuge in the mountains."

For a moment he was silent on the other end. "Aye, Lieutenant. That's good judgement I'll give you that. I landed planetside four hours ago and the wind blew over two automated Titans."

"You're planetside? Excuse me-im sorry sir" I was embarrassed at my outburst but anyone working for the IMC knew that Captain Blisk only put his own boots on the ground when real, merciless shit needed to get done.

"Vice Admiral Spyglass gathered intel on his circuit satellites about Milita activity moving to this planet. We even have reason to believe that Marcus Graves is here. I'm not going to miss the opportunity again to say hello to an old friend."

"Understood sir. Does that mean the HS Havoc is still over our current position?"

"Negative, Autto." _Great, so this whole time we didn't have Titan support_. Wish I could have known that.

"What is important is devoting valuable troops to an offensive maneuver," Blisk continued. "The loss of Demeter and the central Hammond Robotics Facility has given the Militia a lot of bragging rights and a lot of people believing in their cause. Our garrisons have come under attack across the entire sector but we are holding our own. Barely. Vice Admiral Spyglass wanted us here to take out Graves. It's a big risk, but this may be our only shot Autto of cutting off the head of this insurgent snake. And that's just what I'm going to do to that son of a bitch Graves."

 _What if Alice—?_

"You there Autto?"

"Yes, sir. Have the fighter sweeps picked up anything in front of us?"

"Fighters from the 310th have reported a backwater installation located in the northern mountains. On the first sweep they didn't see any military personnel or titans. I want you and your team to check it out. Find out if they know anything about Militia movement in the area. Then you know what to do."

 _Burn it to the ground_. "Understood, sir."

"Excellent, stay sharp out there Lieutenant. Blisk out."

I dropped my arm onto my leg and stared out into the black a moment longer. The cold was rooted deep into the stems of my toes and my tongue languished for the taste of food. I got up and looked down the ridge beneath me. The whole platoon was asleep. The men rested in their zip-pods. Technologically advanced sleep pods that a soldier zipped over all of his body and equipment to form a heat generating cocoon. The inside could set to as warm as eighty degrees inside but didn't melt any of the snow around its base. A man had to curl into the fetal position but it was better than being in the elements. The zip-pod even masked the heat signature of the occupant inside. IMC soldiers all looked like rocks on the side of a mountain. The Spectres powered down and folded into briefcases next to the zip-pods. The grunts had thrown gray blankets over them to match the snow. All the Spectres were down except of course, Jimbo, Harris, and Gracie. Jimbo lifted its metal legs through the snow and stopped beside me.

"Shall I construct your zip-pod Lieutenant Autto?" I nodded and Gracie came out of the dark without a sound. The two robots holstered their sub-machine guns and brought out the zip-pod. As they were working, I asked, "Where is Harris?"

"I am here, sir." The sound was not two feet behind me and I jumped from instinct. "Sorry to startle you, sir," it said without much empathy, "I detect a sudden rise in your heart rate."

"Yeah it means scaring the crap out of a person. I should have known you'd be skulking nearby." Harris apologized one more time. I wished it was the human, real Harris. We could have laughed about it. The other two Spectres stood away from the zip-pod and Gracie said, "Your accommodations are ready Lieutenant."

"Gracie, you know you really sound like a man."

"G-8834 whom you call 'Gracie' takes that as a compliment to be similar to humans and companions in combat."

I opened my mouth but then I suddenly wondered what was crazier, me arguing with a robot or talking to it in the first place. I ejected the clip and bullet from the chamber of my rifle but kept the Hammond on my hip as I crawled into the zip pod. It was a claustrophobic space but not near as tight as a Stryder Titan cockpit. I had enough room to take off my boots and give my feet a therapeutic rub. I took off my gloves and tried to flex the cold soreness out of my hand. The bones in my right palm had to be reconstructed along with my pinky and ring fingers when a shotgun blast nearly took me right off the wall. I cloaked and made a run for my life. I hid and waited for a grenade to come into the room and finished me off. Instead I heard his eager steps thunder down the hall. I rewarded his earnest attempt at my life a Hammond bullet to the skull delivered by my left hand. I still don't understand the miracle that allowed me not to miss that shot, even if he was only a foot away from me. With his brains all over the wall I slid down on my side of the room and cradled my right hand only hanging on by a few strings of skin.

I waited until the battle was over. Most everyone in my unit figured I had been killed but I finally came into the sunlight of dusk when the dropship came to get us. I felt a bit of a coward but it was Sergeant Blisk who was the first to look at my hand. "Oy, quite the scuff you got there mate, give me a look at 'er." I sat on the bench of the dropship and the other pilots of the 40th Squadron gathered around. I was the only casualty that day. Blisk's strong fingers dexterously took a hold of the meatloaf that was my right hand. I may have lost a good pint or two of blood but I was still awake enough to be frightened as to what he would do. My fears manifested purely when he flicked out his prolific combat knife. Without a word he stuck the blade into the bloody mess and I grunted. An IMC pilot did not pull away from pain. The knife seemed to be on fire as he scraped blood and severed ligaments away. When he finally slid the blade across his pants to remove the blood he said, "the wound was already beginning to become infected. You'll keep most your hand this way. You're a tough sport." It may have not been the whole thing but it was the only time I ever saw it: a smile on Blisk's face.

After that, Alice went onto say it was my "crush period". I began doing research into Sergeant Blisk's contract history with the corporation. There was nothing about his work in South Africa or anything back on earth, but it was no wonder he was one of the most feared men in the Frontier. He had been in countless engagements either as a Titan Pilot or as a battle-tech synchronizer, essentially coordinating ground forces, titan construction and launch, medical evacuations, battle strategy, and effecting the maximum number of casualties on the enemy. Blisk's body cam (which was standard for all of us pilots) revealed almost hundreds of dead Militia at his hands. Some of the moments were very unsavory but he did the job he was paid to do. I could never manage large engagements that Blisk does but that is why Sergeant Blisk and the Vice Admiral at the time—Marcus Graves worked so well together. Blisk was aggressive, ruthless, and nimble. But his orders bordered on war crimes by often attacking civilian fleets to exact the most amount of damage to enemy production and moral. Vice Admiral Marcus Graves could rein him in from time to time to keep the big picture in mind of life after war. Graves was able to save a majority of the IMC fleet because of his vision for large-scale war and his relationship with the terrorist James MacAllen. Blisk could win the battles and Graves could win the war. But MacAllen and Demeter changed everything. Sergeant Blisk learned about my "fascination" and took me under his tutelage. We frequented the combat simulator to work together on strategy and went head to head to sharpen our skills. Most of the time he demolished me with scores like 14 to 5 and 10 to 2. The man was a magician in a titan but the worst thing was seeing the knife that saved my right hand splash out of my chest before I blacked out and I respawned. Afterwards, we spent hours going over the simulator films and the recordings of my own body cam in actual combat to break down strategy and techniques.

"The IMC Pilot Program wants you to be a killing machine." Sergeant Blisk said to me once. "But the corporation doesn't want you to be a thinking one; that's too dangerous for their stock prices," as an evil grin crept onto his face.

All of this was before the Militia was anything to be really taken seriously. IMC forces were crushing all support and leaving a trail of broken people and titans all over the place. One morning before Blisk and I climbed into the simulator he clapped me on the shoulder. "Autto, I've been watching some of your film from the water treatment site and I think you should give a long range rifle a try."

"Like a sniper rifle? I scored almost the worst of my class back in training with the Longbow."

"I'm not saying that mate. I'm saying something like the Hemlock or the G2A4 might be just what the doctor ordered."

I trusted him, he didn't have anything to gain by making me a fool again in the simulator. My friends saw the footage and made fun of me just as much as Blisk did but I don't recollect them squaring off against him. I put away the R-97 Compact SMG and felt in my hands the solid stock and barrel of the G2A4 Rifle for the first time since basic Pilot training.

When you first zap into the combat simulator, you would think it was the poor menagerie of some short sighted idiot trying to recreate battlefields. Angel City blends into white training room walls and the alleyways of Nexus careen into luxury restaurants of Haven. I took off at a sprint right from the start. I leaped onto an Angel city sign and fired the traveling pack on my waist to run a long distance across the sign. I made another long jump and landed into the white and black world of the training rooms. Gunshots echoed off the linoleum walls of grunts goofing off and shooting at each other. I lined up a couple of them in my sights and held down the trigger. The first bullet went right through the grunt avatar but then my single shots spread all over the room. I had already emptied the clip when the other grunt aimed his gun at me. Luckily I cloaked and was able to slip behind him and twist his head around to where he faced me and his knees went limp. I glanced at the motion sensor on my arm and did not see anything. Blisk must be close. He must have heard my erratic fire from the other side of the map. I fired my jetpack to get out of the training rooms as quickly as possible. I landed my boots in the dirt of a grass field with fuel pumps thumping into the ground.

Crazy right? I sprinted across the field and dove into a window. The computer generated window shattered and there was Sergeant Blisk with his side to me. He whirled around but I already had the G2A4 on my shoulder and I fired two precision shots from a crouch. The first round went through his collar bone and the second one blew out the back of his metaphorical skull. Sergeant Blisk and his brain matter disappeared into a glitter of electrical infinity. I glanced down at the rifle in my hands and the two empty casings rolling around on the floor.

"Oh crap," I thought, "he isn't going to be happy about that." I ran through other worlds the combat simulator recreated because any pilot worth his salt knows that standing still in death. At any minute I expected a grenade to plop in front of me or well-placed R-101C Carbine rounds to take out my knees before he finished me off with a B-3 Wingman cartridge to the face. As I ran through the simulator and picked off some grunts for target practice, I began to think that he was biding his time. But that is when I saw him. Sergeant Blisk was running across the same sign I had first crossed from Angel City. He completely ignored the Titan engagement going on right below him. He only had one mission: Me. I lifted the rifle up to my shoulder and tracked him, leading the pilot as he jumped on top of a building. Blisk leaped into the air to get to the next building and I pulled the trigger. The bullet slashed through his jump kit and he fell in between the buildings like a baby bird. He gathered his equilibrium before he hit the side of the building and stuck his knife into the wall. Sergeant Blisk looked right at me from a hundred yards and he might have smiled before headshot number two. After that four R-101C bullets banged through my spine while I was on the back of a friendly Titan. Our battle lasted for a whole hour. Neither of us wanted to give up. I was riding the beginner's luck train like it was going out of style and Blisk couldn't handle the thought of being beat at his own game. We stayed almost neck and neck all the way through until the server had to finally shut down with me at 15 and him at 15 kills. I remember basically crawling out of the simulator pod. The whole world was still lights and flashes. Even drool slid out of my mouth. I glanced over and Sergeant Blisk was in a similar state. He turned his blonde head and our eyes met.

We both grinned.

But it was not always fun and games. War happened. People died for real and one by one my friends didn't make it back to the dropship. The Militia started getting organized and sophisticated for the first time thanks to the leadership of MacAllen. It wasn't until the loss of the Hammond Robotics Facility that I saw Blisk again. He actually marched into my room and said, "Oy, lazy ass, let's lift." I had lifted with him before this was something else. He programmed the room to have three times the gravitational push and he still pressed up 320 lbs with five reps a piece. I was barely keeping up if it could be called that. His biceps bulged and his eyes were as restless as his fingers to crush something. The whole time he bantered and vented about Marcus Graves. Apparently while I had been getting my ass whipped by Militia Pilots on the ground (I lost two Stryder Titans), Blisk and the defector Graves had been spitting insults back and forth.

"I can't believe a man I thought I knew would go and do _that_." he annunciated the last word with the most amount of disgust his voice could offer. "It takes a coward to stab a friend in the back like that. He even tried to get me to come over to his side. Saying we need to fight against the machines. I got no problem with machines," Blisk continued to mutter as the sweat dripped down his forehead and his chest heaved the last reps of a burnout on the dip bar. "I do my job, I get paid. When you get down to the roots of life that's all it is Autto. All it is." That's when he turned to me. "You hearin' what I'm saying to you?"

That whole time I had been quiet. Blisk's tormented rage bored into my eye sockets but I watched like a spectator at a air rink game. This man from the depths of South Africa, known for its brutality, was someone different. Everyone that was anyone knew that Sergeant (now Captain) Blisk was savage. I bet his own grandmother knew that. But listening to him and literally feeling the heat from his anger barrage my skin, I knew Blisk was entering dark territory. He was probing into the darkest regions of the human heart. His ears must have been pricked by the everlasting nothingness that breeds between the light of the stars. A place where hatred and revenge do not even have a place anymore but something else resides there. Something even more raw and sinister. I could tell that was where the eyes of Captain Blisk had been looking and it was written all over his face.

"Well?!" he asked again.

"Sir," I said, "I think you need help."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

My eyes opened in the zip-pod and I pushed Alice's phantom hands from my body. I opened the zipper and snow tumbled inside. I pushed off the top and the weight of the snow. It was still dark out but the stars had come out. The cold air that slammed into my lungs seemed to be the very breath of the stars. An old air. At detecting my motion the three Spectres powered up and shook the snow off of their metal skeletons. Jimbo said, "Shall I issue the other Spectres to activate and initialize the grunt forces, sir?"

"Yeah sure, I just got to use the bathroom like no other. I'd like some privacy please." Thankfully the nanny robots stayed in their places. Doing the only human activity a robot couldn't do was the only time I could expect some privacy. After I finished I instructed Harris and Jimbo to clean the snow out of the zip-pod and pack it up. I walked down the hill and saw wet, black Spectres poking lumps of snow. Amazingly enough IMC soldiers popped out of them, grumbling about lack of manners and coffee. Sergeant Dubois seemed to be the one of first grunts ready. He offered me a sandwich with cold eggs.

"It must have snowed about four inches last night. But it looks like only powder so it shouldn't slow us down that much."

"How are the grunts holding up?"

"They complain a lot but that's nothing new. We have been on space transports for three months so they might be missing the comforts of a thermostat. Otherwise, they are ready to fight."

"Good. Captain Blisk has ordered us to investigate a backwater installation in the mountains up ahead. They are assuming its an independent mining operation but nothing is certain anymore. I want your men on their toes from here on out."

"Right away sir, we got your back." Dubois pounded his chestplate once more. I returned the salute and he got a real kick out of it.

Two hours later we waited at the bottom of a ridge. While I told the rest of the unit to be on guard, I practiced throwing rocks as a Spectre next to me held up a Kraber Sniper Rifle. "Approximately fifteen people. Light vehicle trucks. They are hauling covered wares." The robot said.

"Do you see any company signs. Logos, names on the trucks at all?" I asked, still tossing rocks into the snow.

"Scanning . . . I cannot locate any logos on the trucks or the buildings, sir."

"What are they wearing?"

"Most are in orange, some are in white and some are in brown." Brown, not a good sign. Militia colors were brown and green.

"Do one more thermal scan. Does anything look suspicious or militaristic?"

"I already completed the second thermal scan and all I detect is fifteen body signatures, four running truck engines and two engines inside the farthest left building, three permanent buildings and mobile buildings."

"Alright, that's all we are going to learn from here. Stand down." The Spectre lifted the barrel of the Kraber and sat down in the snow next to me.

"Tell me B-9714," I said to the Spectre holding the sniper rifle, "do you find Gracie attractive?" I didn't really know anyone who was dead that had their name started with B. It looked at me, "Spectre Unit G-8834 whom you, Lieutenant Kax Autto, refer to as 'Gracie' is neither attractive nor repulsive to me as it is another Spectre Unit. I am attracted to victory mostly, sir." I laughed aloud and then I said, "alright then, let's get some victory for breakfast, shall we?" I swear the IMC programmers really do have a sincere sense of humor.

I peeked my head over the snow covered ridge and saw very little movement. For a mining operation it didn't look industrious. Now was the time to head down. I still had a very uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach about all this but orders were orders. "Except as professionals we can use our discretion to accomplish those orders in any way we see fit." Alice's voice spoke just behind my ears. I thought if I looked quickly enough I would see her shy smile as she brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face. But I took a breath and didn't dare turn my head. But she gave me a good idea.

All fifteen people were standing in the cold to meet us. I saw plenty of worry in their eyes as they may not have seen other people for months. Forty-three Spectres, thirty grunts, and one IMC pilot dressed in the clunky garb or a grunt marched up to the entrance of the camp. The two main buldings on the right faced each other and then the middle building stood back to make a courtyard where us and these miners stood. Next to the middle building was a large shed and a row of mining vehicles like dump trucks and tractors. I held a borrowed R-101C Carbine in my hands as Sergeant Dubois and I walked up to the foreman of the operation. My rifle was stashed underneath a heavy grunt pack because the G2A4 Rifle was oftentimes an indicator of special forces. It took me ten minutes to explain to the three body guard Spectres to not accompany me when we talked to the leaders of the town. I told them how it would look conspicuous and we needed the element of surprise.

The foreman was a big, burly man with a black beard that went down to his chest. That is where he had his arms crossed and his legs spread as if ready for any type of action. This little place had all my nerves on edge and I couldn't wait to waste the place. I had the faceplate down on my helmet so these miners only saw face full of blue glow and some lousy corporal carrying everything.

"Good morning," Sergeant Dubois said genially. I had to admire the guy's manners. "We are with the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation and we are here to investigate Militia activity on this planet."

"No other reason you'd be here." The foreman shot back. _Strike one._

"I'd just to ask you gentlemen and ladies a few questions. May I ask what company you work for and what minerals you are extracting?"

"We work for Bert. We all brought our families out here. It's none of your business what we're pulling here. Last thing we need is the IMC sticking their nose into one more market." _Strike two._

Dogmatic Sergeant Dubois continued on, "well then can I speak to this 'Bert'? We need to know if he has seen any Militia activity around these mountains.

"Sure," the foreman said, "I'll go get him right now". He dropped his strong hands and that is when two things happened simultaneously. I only reacted after years of listening to instincts and watching films. The foreman smirked. Where are the children? I pulled out the Hammond pistol from the hip and aimed at his deceptive smirk and pulled the trigger. Before his body even hit the ground the other 'miners' scrambled away. I yelled for everyone to get to cover and that is when the shed in front of us rumbled. I began to shed the cumbersome grunt jacket and pack when the shed burst and out came an Atlas Titan with an arc cannon pointed at all of us. The blood in my body ran to absolute zero. I sprinted away from the others and hit the cloak. My body flashed for a few seconds and then disappeared. Militia Spectres unfolded from the snow behind my troops and opened fire on our Spectres and grunts. Sergeant Dubois was screaming orders until I heard the thunderous crack of the arc cannon. Electricity hit me and numbed my right arm so I had to sling the G2A4 Rifle off my back with a single arm as I ran towards the building on the left. The Atlas stood at twenty four feet and began to march forward with another blast from the arc cannon charging. I jumped onto the wall and fired the jump kits to run along the wall right towards the Titan. I prayed the pilot inside wouldn't see the minuscule fires from my stealth pack. But the pilot was more concerned with the easy pickings of grunts and Spectres. The feeling returned into my right arm and I gave one last push off of the wall and sailed through the air towards the Atlas. The trickiest thing about working with cloak is learning to walk or run when you cannot see your feet or hands. But unlike Militia Pilot training, IMC Pilots were taught to embark an enemy Titan from any angle with cloak active. No slips, ever. Slip, and that pilot was a pancake.

I latched onto the shoulder of the machine and scaled to the top where the main systems for the Atlas were stored. I was just about to pull the hatch open on the smoke stack-like housing for the central computer when I noticed something. In his rush, the pilot didn't fully secure the cockpit door. The whole Atlas shook when another blast from the arc cannon obliterated three grunts caught in the open. I slid to the front and hung on a maintenance latch and opened the side door of the cockpit. Inside, the pilot's eyes got real big. He was scrambling for the pistol at his side. I tossed him one of my bags and said, "here jerk, hold this for me." I slammed the cockpit shut and put my feet on the hull of the Atlas and fired the jump kits to launch off. I squeezed the remote trigger into a fist and detonated the satchel charge. The Atlas burst from the inside just as it had burst from the camouflage shed. The arc cannon hit the snow and the electricity died from its three pronged jaws.

Rookies, man—I almost feel sorry for them.

I rolled into the snow and shouldered my rifle from a crouch. A few of the pseudo-miners came out of the building on my left with spitfire LMGs that I'm sure weren't for excavating rocks. Before they could pour a bucketful of death on the remainder of my men I aimed quickly, carefully, and I aimed high. Three shots later were two more bodies committed to the greater cause of the Militia. I sprinted through the snow and touched the comm on my ear.

"Everyone converge and take the west building! If you can't get there, get to cover."

The grunts were running backwards and finishing off the Militia Spectres. They may have had the jump on our backline but our IMC Spectres were better equipped and outnumbered them. I jumped onto the porch of the west building and saw the remaining IMC forces flowing towards me. My three body guard Spectres, Jimbo, Harris, and Gracie were the first to reach me.

"Allow us, sir." Jimbo said and Harris kicked in the door. A few bullets snapped off the robot's shoulder as it charged in but Harris was unfazed (The real Harris could hardly hear me when I cradled half of his body next to the 40 mm cannon crater). The Spectre aimed its C.A.R. and fired a burst into a Militia grunt. Gracie followed after Harris and when one Militia grunt threw down his weapon and went to his knees, Gracie fired so many rounds into him that his torso and face was just a bowl of gore.

I was laying down covering fire when I saw four grunts trip and go face first into the snow. Red pools growing out of their shattered skulls. _Smart Pistol, be careful Kax_ , I told myself. I ducked behind a barrel and scanned the opposing building. Sure enough a female pilot was waiting patiently for the locks to finish on her Smart Pistol. I had to hand it to those pilots that wielded that weapon. They had to walk through hell and not pull the trigger after I would have gone and pissed my pants three minutes ago. I used the barrel to steady my aim through my HCOG sights and fired the precision rifle. Her left knee exploded into a mist of red and she jumped out of instinct, firing her jump kit. I heard the hiss of a Stim that took away the pain for a moment. I fired three more times and only put holes in the roof of the mining building. She leaped through the air and had her Smart Pistol aimed at my head. I couldn't feel the invisible computer lines configuring my vital organs to send deadly projectiles into them. I would die before I even heard her pull the trigger of that pistol. I saw her face. It was pain, it was aggression, it was hatred.

I only had a couple seconds left as she coasted through the air like an avenging angel reaping all the sins of the IMC. Good God the triangle of my HCOG was shaking all over the place. Enough had happened to me. I closed my eyes before I fired the rifle.

Two seconds went by and I wasn't dead. At least I don't think I'm dead. It's awfully dark. Until I open my eyes. I peeked over the barrel and the pilot lay face down in the snow. A red rose of bone and brains blooming from the back of her head.

I slid down and the breath that I had been holding the whole time ejects out of me like her soul in five, four, three, two, one . . .

I see an empty pullet casing on the porch and my trembling fingers pick it up.

The casing is still warm.

It's just starting to snow.

I could barely hold the casing still as I etched a diagonal scratch into the stock of my G2A4 Rifle. Number 10. I looked up and saw two perfectly drilled bullet holes. Both precisely 1 foot—12 inches—30.84 centimeters—.304 of a meter apart—

The exact width of my head.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

I should have known it was going to happen.

Tailor-made revelation could not have fit tighter. Cinched around my throat and closing tighter every day since.

The past with its all knowing measuring tape reveals tiny, candid features on a woman's face that a man in love is completely blind to. At this point, fate ties the measuring tape into a knot until air quits coming out.

Alice rolls over in her sleep. Her soft breath on my neck is the tumbling down of towers. All of her fingertips touch me. I close my eyes and it's finally okay to die. This is when the knot ties quietly. The neon lights of Haven peep through the sides of the window shade. Even as the rays of dawn try to steal the light, the city never sleeps.

"Kax", she whispers my first name close to my ear. I move my face to touch hers. Her lips kiss my earlobe. I thought she was asleep. Her hand leaves my chest and presses my cheek until my three days lack of shaving meets her perfect face. This when the knot goes tighter.

"What are we fighting for anymore?" She asks and the ocean flows over every man's city. Tighter

I knew the answer before she asked. It was one of the only things that made sense since the day that I enlisted with the IMC. The answer was in every deadly pull of a trigger and the answer was in every bullet that ripped into my muscle tissue. "I fight for you Alice."

Her silence is the life sentence on death row. The still waters of the ocean when the moon has been blown out of the sky. Tighter.

At the moment everything is drowned underwater and choked with everything every sin we deserved to commit, she says, "How many people have you killed for me Kax?" Tighter.

"I don't know, I would do it all again four times more if you wanted me too."

Alice takes her face away from mine and the stars blot out. She raises herself above and looks down with her hand heavy on my chest. "I've killed for you Kax. I even enjoyed it. But where does it end? When do we wash this blood," she held up her hand in the dark and I am alone on the ocean. "This blood may never come off our hands." Tighter.

"We are the only ones that can establish peace on the frontier. You and me Alice. No matter what the Militia says the IMC is the only entity that has the power and the conviction to make sure law and order is preserved." I am the only tree coming out of the ocean, with tailor's tape around the trunk.

"There you go again with the ideology we've been spoon fed for years," says Alice's nails deep in my muscle. "You're not even listening to what I'm saying. It's this war Kax, what is it doing to us?" Tighter.

Making us stronger, I want to say. This war is worth every man, woman, and child that I have ended because I would have never met you otherwise. I am the first leaf falling on this new, wild frontier.

"This war is killing us." I say these words to go past Alice's face and I say it to my demons chuckling in the shadows. For once, they stop and listen.

"Kax, we can't keep getting into those Titans. We've seen our friends die in . . . ways too horrible to describe. I can't bear the thought of losing you." Tighter.

"I don't know what I would do if I lost you Alice. You are my universe—my Frontier, brave and free." I touch her face and a homestead is built with crops and animals by the front door.

Alice's hand clasps mine. Children play with blonde hair like hers in the dirt yard and their smiles are unpaid repentance.

"Let's leave then."

I can't breathe.

"Let's leave all this Kax. No more war, no more killing. I can't sleep anymore and I feel Titan controls in my hands when I do doze off. I relive everything-every single terrible thing I have done." She is crying. Her tears course the canyons of my fingers.

A fire is burning my lungs, I cannot tell if they are swelling or shrinking. The crops burn black smoke and the children scream. I want to claw my throat out but her tears are a thousand pounds.

"Kax? Please say something, I need you to say something!"

What we have made can be rebuilt. But can we truly be reborn?

"One more mission." I hear someone with my voice speaking to Alice.

"Why not now? This is our last night of leave. We won't return back to the HS Havoc."

"Our friends need us Alice. Are we just going to leave Harris, Gracie, and Varner on their own? The Militia is getting stronger and . . ."

"Does it matter who wins? Does anything matter? Who makes the rules is whoever has the most blood on their hands." Alice reaches through the dark. Through the infinite universe and places her warm hand on my face and now she can feel tears. "And we have enough blood on our hands Kax, to make OUR rules."

Slowly her face lowers and we close our eyes. A rumbling is thundering through the darkness. Prepare for titanfall in four, three, two, one . . .

The earth and snow shatters and I am knocked away from the barrel. I still felt a phantom pressure on my lips. That dull ache transplanted all over my body when I saw an Ogre Titan squatting in the middle of the square. The dome shield stayed up. It must have been called in by the pilot with the smart pistol that met her demise only a few moments ago. I scrambled to my feet. I yelled at the last of my men and robots.

"Everyone get inside and get to cover NOW!"

I heard the dome shield evaporate and the function of machinery. The automated Ogre reached behind its back and revealed a 40 mm cannon.

 _Damn_

I ran inside the building and shouted for everyone to get out their Anti-Titan weapons. Inside were sacks of minerals and drill bits for mining. This camp may have at one time been for the extraction of minerals, but it was quickly turning into a gravesite. The last grunt ran in and the frame of the door exploded into shrapnel and wood. The cannon's explosive shells could demolish us all by the end of the clip if I didn't move fast enough. Another round ripped through the wall and detonated a stack of grey powder. If our IMC uniforms were not already grey, everyone now was ghost.

My cloak was recharged and it would be easy to mount up on the back of the Ogre and take out the internal systems but the Milita had staged this attack knowing that very few human pilots remained in the IMC. I had already faced down two pilots, there was no telling how many more might be crawling around out there. The cloak on my pilot outfit was meant to fool Titan optics, not human visual targeting systems. If I went out onto the back of that Ogre with no support I would be a sitting duck for anybody with an itchy trigger finger. Another blast went through the wooden walls and two Spectres disintegrated into pieces. The automated Ogre was going to systematically shoot the place full of holes until nothing more came out. The grunts were firing archer rockets in pairs and the Spectres unloaded whole sidewinder clips into the big Titan's shields. But they were fighting with the equivalent of pea shooters.

A 40 mm round went through a window in front of me and a woman's head disappeared from her shoulders. I saw her holding the archer rocket on her shoulder without a head for a moment before the cannon blast sent shrapnel all around us. Her body sank to the ground and another grunt did not even dare reach for the rocket launcher.

I still had not seen Sergeant Dubois since the surprise attack with the Atlas Titan. I was the IMC rank here but pilots operated as an independent arm of the corporation's military and we were not exactly supposed to be leaders to slow grunts. I pointed at the scared grunt.

"Pick up that Archer and fire that rocket. You know she would have wanted you too."

He did pick up the launcher and another explosion sent screams and shrapnel behind me. I had to get us out of here but I could see no way out. There was no back door and only a side door that the Ogre would see. At that point it would quit wasting ammunition and crush the meager IMC forces like helpless ants.

Suddenly, a deep, brutish voice said to my ear, "HS Havoc is over your position Boss. Do you need me, sir?"

"Sid! It's good to hear you. Can you bring the chain gun?"

"I can Boss but scans indicate multiple titanfalls in your combat zone."

"Alright, keep the quad rocket. I need you in a hurry."

I looked out one of the holes made by the 40 mm cannon. My helmet sequenced the location and I pressed the button by my chin strap.

"Coordinates registered." Sid said. "Warpfall Transmitter engaged. Prepare for titanfall in two, one-"

The sonic boom of a Warpfall Transmitter doesn't annihilate the ear drums of everyone present until one point eight four seconds after the Titan has hit the ground. The drop of 19 tons of metal and fire happens so fast the human eye has a high level of difficulty detecting what it sees. One second, an Ogre Titan is standing in front of the building, the very next second, my Stryder Titan sat in the lava melted ground. The smaller titan fell so fast that the arms and legs of the Ogre were still standing with only hot, orange metal glistening in the air. The automatic dome shield took over and the Ogre's arms and legs collapsed.

The grunts gave a loud cheer and pumped their fists in the air. I ordered the next highest ranked soldier to come find me. Corporal Beddington, a wiry woman with ashen eyes saluted me the way that Sergeant Dubois used to.

"If there are other titans out there, I need your squad to push out and provide support either from ground or second floor. Push out and take all three buildings if you can. I don't know if more troops will be coming."

"Roger that, sir. Good hunting out there."

I hit the cloak and disappeared from in front of her.

On the porch the snow was falling heavier by the minute. The flakes of snow would stick onto the dome shield and then melt. Lines of water ran down the blue orb in a beautiful cascade. No gunfire echoed in the mining square but I heard the sounds of titans, drop pods, and drop ships breaking through the atmosphere. The Militia wanted one of their signature ambushes but I had survived. The IMC survives until it does what it does best-overwhelm.

The Stryder Titan held out its hand and I jumped into the metal palm. The cockpit opened and I was placed in the seat. Encased in iron and shields, my cockpit displays came on. I slid my arms and legs into place at the controls and made the twenty-four foot tall Titan stand. From the back, the Stryder pulled out the Quad Rocket Launcher that fired four Hellfire rockets at time. Dash kits primed, cluster missile armed, vortex shield on standby, strategic battle map online, and one emotionally disturbed pilot at the helm.

"Greetings, Lieutenant Autto," Sid growled. "We have a body count to fill."

I studied the layout of the mountain range when Captain Blisk's voice demanded. "What's going on down there eh? We are picking up massive amounts of Militia signatures in your airspace."

"Sir, they staged an ambush and wiped out half of us. I'm in need of titan support—"

"Already on their way Lieutenant. Two automated titans and two racks of Spectres. I also mobilized a squad of pilots from the 8th Squadron to back you up down there. Hold out until their drop ships arrive. The Militia wants a fight, they are going to get one."

"Understood, sir." I began moving my Stryder out of the blood stained mining square. The IMC grunts and Spectres were moving out of the damaged building and pressing into small arms fire. I wished Corporal Beddington and her remaining soldiers luck.

My titan was an extension of me. I stood on the snowy ridge and saw an Atlas Titan trudging over trees. I couldn't tell what weapon it had but numerous Militia grunts and Spectres scuttled around its feet.

"Warning-" Sid said, "you are outnumbered two to one."

"Where—?" then I saw a Stryder rushing up the north side of the valley about to push into the flank of the town.

"Sid, paint this valley as an IMC landing zone. I want to put us right on top of them." This type of fighting wasn't about sneaking or bringing a surprise. My Stryder boosted off the ridge and sprinted right for the middle. Welcome to fist city.

Two Ogres dropped from the sky and stood in the middle of the valley in front of me. They turned to the Atlas and opened fire. The pilot inside was smart enough to try ducking behind trees to dodge the hail of chain gun and plasma railgun fire. The shields on the side of one of the automated Ogres went under assault by the three round burst of a 40 mm cannon. It came from the flanking Stryder. This was just what I wanted.

Automated Titans were as slow as dried toothpaste on a sink. Rookie pilots could spin an automated titan like a top if it didn't have a Guardian Chip or the Andromeda Relay. The Guardian Chip was designed to have an auto-titan protect and defend a friendly pilot on the ground. The Andromeda Relay was something else entirely. The Andromeda Relay was fished out of the burning rubble of the IMC's main corporate robotics facility on the Frontier. They had just finished it and were about to mainstream that combat system into every Spectre and Titan in the IMC. It tripled the normal reaction rate and aggression in the soulless counterparts of the IMC mechanized war machine. The Andromeda Relay picked up Milita movements, in correlation with battlefield terrain, "reacted" to incoming fire, and immediately devised defensive strategies while simultaneously calculating counter-attack maneuvers while the battle was happening. The IMC may have been on the defense, but little men in lab coats could make big, bad machines.

So the IMC Ogre equipped with the Andromeda Relay did not just slowly pivot and take the brunt of the 40 mm cannon fire. It grabbed a tree by the trunk and ripped it out of the ground when the Stryder fired again. The Ogre used the tree as a shield as the burst fire ripped apart the wood. Needless to say the old tree was obliterated by the blasts but that gave the IMC Ogre the open target with its X0-16 Chain gun.

The Milita Stryder boosted a long side step but right into my rocket salvo. The pilot inside panicked because all the shields are obliterated and it's two versus one in open ground, it dashed away but I give chase. I lay into the light class titan with every shot of the quad rocket. I anticipated its movements. Flames shot out of its spent boosters, the legs are wobbling and the Milita pilot is crazy enough to try and fire one more burst of the 40mm cannon. The shells actually caught me by surprise in the face of my Stryder. Sid tells me the shields are down but I pull the trigger of the Quad Rocket one last time.

All four of the spiraling rockets slam into the Stryder's torso. The cockpit erupts into a ball of flame and the legs finally crumble. I'm reloading the Quad Rocket and I see the cockpit attempt to open but only flames leap out. I'm glad I don't have to hear the screams this time. But with all the death I had seen, I couldn't remember the last time a scream really registered to my ears. Sure I heard those shrill blasts, I could even imagine the pilot inside screaming as his lungs turned to ash, but feelings of angst or uncomfortableness was alien to me now.

I had seen so much suffering that I guess I didn't take suffering seriously anymore. ( _The Monstrumologist_ , Rick Yancey)

"Boss." Sid shows the general direction of an incoming homing missile. "A pilot is locking on. Neutralize him or get to cover."

"We got cover Sid, don't sweat." I turned my titan towards the Archer rocket launcher locked onto me and I see the heavy missile coming right for me. It has a long, orange tail of smoke as it zips through the air. If I did not pull up the vortex shield with the left hand of my titan, that missile may have gone clear through my lightly armored cockpit. I would have been riding that rocket until it slammed into the mountainside. Instead, I saw the incapacitated rocket floating in the vortex's circular shield. The blue strength is of the shield waned from orange to red and I could not find the offending pilot so I sent the large rocket into a group of Militia grunts. All I saw after that was a big plume of snow.

The Militia Atlas had destroyed the automated IMC Ogre that had the plasma railgun. I saw it reloading a Triple Threat grenade launcher as it targeted the other Ogre that assisted me with the X0-16 Chain gun

The female Betty OS voice calls to me from the empty cockpit of the Ogre. "I am engaging an enemy titan—requesting assistance."

"Just kill it and quit playing with it." Sid said. I almost let out a laugh. I don't regret the couple thousand credits I spent to have the programmer make Sid cranky all the time.

The Ogre with the Betty voice inside succumbed to a barrage of Triple Threat grenades and collapsed. These Milita pilots must feel pretty good about themselves when they take down a couple of titans that quickly. The only asterisk on their stupendous success for the greater good of the Frontier is that for every automated titan they kill, we already have two more being built. If an IMC Pilot happened to be inside, that titan went from being a harmless whale, all gigantic and docile, to the cruelest tiger shark strapped with rockets. Now this Milita Atlas was about to have a taste of some real war, and this tiger shark was already loving the smell of blood on the snow.

The Andromeda Relay program in the previous Ogre Titans did enough damage to shut down the shields on my opponent. The Atlas was not to be taken for granted though. The Atlas was a tough machine with still a good amount of speed and maneuverability. The Triple Threat also declared it as one of the best close combat weapons, which the Quad Rocket tried to boast that it was best at close quarters as well. This was going to be a deadly dance.

The Milita Pilot detected me rushing in and swung the Triple Threat towards me. It fired three grenades in a horizontal plane at my titan. The magnets on the grenades would suck the explosive in and detonate against my shields. I had hoped he would try fire the grenade launcher vertically to try and exact the most damage on me but he wanted to keep me from flanking him. I unleashed a rocket salvo but my running titan made the rockets inaccurate and spray all over the place. One of its grenade blew up on the my Stryder's legs and my shields went down significantly. One of the most difficult aspects of being a Stryder pilot is not panicking. Heck, a cotton-ball hitting a Styder could knock down the shields and cause severe damage. Yet, "the trick, Potter, is not minding that it hurts." ( _Prometheus/Lawrence of Arabia_ ).

I got very close, so close I could almost see the insignias on the Militia Atlas. I did not fire the Quad Rocket because it would blow me to smithereens and the Atlas has enough armor to still be standing. That is when I saw what I wanted to see. The Atlas could not resist the temptation to lay into the annoying, dash happy Stryder and I saw the giant machine reach back a metal fist. I dashed the empty side and escaped a killer blow. I spun my Stryder around and fired eight rockets into the back of the Atlas. The machine fell to its knees but not quite out yet. I dashed back and pulled back my metal fist to finish this mortal combat. That is when I saw a flash of blue light emitting from the shattered hull of the Militia Atlas Titan. The nuclear reactor was going critical and it straightened up like a patient on a vertical stretcher to eject the Militia Pilot. I pressed the dash to go backwards and only heard a faulty beep.

 _Oh Shit!_

I turned the Styder around and sprinted as hard as that machine could push. The nuclear reaction was reaching its crescendo of its deadly whine and I was only halfway out of the killzone. Once more to save my life, the quick dash charger indicated I had one more boost. I dashed but the fires of the semi-nuclear explosion clawed at the back of the Stryder like a hungry beast.

"Shields down, Boss—critical damage, seek cov—" Sid said and I had one second to decide. Abandon the ship! Women and children second!

My hands left the controls as the heat of the blast enveloped my titan. Shrapnel holes tore through the cockpit and sparks flew into my face from the display consoles. Every electrical device was spitting hateful sparks and screaming red when I reached between my legs and yanked the ejection hammer as hard as my muscles could pull. The nuclear blast was throwing my Stryder down to hell in a forward angle so I did not eject straight up but in the angle of an artillery shell.

The cold wind whistled by helmet as I flew over the white world. I looked back and my Stryder was a smoldering heap. At least the IMC had two more ready for me. But would I make it back to those two? The cockpit seat left my rear end and fell away into oblivion. I had nothing to stable me in the air as I began to crash towards the earth. I tumbled through the air and risked the chance of breaking every bone in my mortal body. I fired my jump kit and it helped stabilize my equilibrium as my body picked up speed towards the snow. Hopefully it would be powder.

My feet hit the snow unnaturally hard. I tucked and rolled into the snow bank. The jump kit had lessened my fall quite a bit but I still felt instantly sore. I laid in the snow for a moment. Before me was the crushed snow of my body's artillery barrage and in the distance was the smoke of a titan battle. Funny thing was, that all lasted probably fifteen minutes, max. I checked my watch, sure enough, twenty one minutes since I called Sid planet side.

"Constructing another Stryder Titan for you," Sid said. Sid's A.I. was synched with the main IMC network and intrinsically tied to my suit. Even when I died, Sid would live on in archives. Would it miss me? Would it spend time trying not to miss me, like I do for Alice?

The snow was really coming down now. It was actually a storm swirling in the pale valley. Except the thunderous booms were more titans entering the atmosphere to continue the endless battle for the sake of battle. Keeping the strong, strong, and the weak taking a fist in their teeth.

Sid said into my comm, "your titan will be ready in three minutes." _So in other words, an eternity?_ I thought. I simply laid there for a moment in the snow and flipped open my helmet visor. The snowflakes were angel kisses on my sweat-hot face. My breath was vapor and nothing was sweeter because I could have been incinerated a few seconds ago.

I sat up and laid the G2A4 Rifle across my lap. I glanced once more at the ten notch marks in the wooden stock. Before me, the sounds of more IMC titans clashed with the Militia forces. Fighter jets weaved in and out of the snowing clouds. Dropships were breaking the atmosphere and flying into the smoke of our first battles.

I missed Alice terribly. I wished she hadn't died. I loaded a bullet into the chamber and ran back into the fray.


	5. Chapter 5

IMC CHAPTER 5

Bullets clapped the snow around my feet as I dove into the forest. Inaccurate small arms fire was always a sure sign of Militia Grunts. I glanced around the cold bark and Militia grunts with R-101C carbines were firing at a small group of IMC Spectres on the fringe of the battlefield. One robot caught a bullet in the head as it came out of cover and collapsed into a pile of junk. The other robot looked at its fallen comrade and then continued to return fire.

I wanted a better view of the battle but I didn't want to be vulnerable in a tree. I leaned my rifle on the side of the tree and aimed a careful headshot on the farthest grunt. He went down and none of his buddies noticed. I scanned again for enemy pilots lurking in the white woods. I leaned back against the tree and saw my breath go out in a puff of steam.

To be honest, nature is the splinter in the side of my brain that is completely scared of the combat I am involved in. Trees are only vertical protection while big rocks if they can be found are horizontal protection. Even then, a Militia Titan can tear those things apart and find a whimpering pilot on the ground like a cornered rabbit. Most of my training had occurred in the infamous IMC Training Grounds back on planet Wayfold. Urban disputes were where my game thrived. Nothing felt better than scaling massive buildings, finding a good middle ground, and sniping crows off the rooftops. The urban combat zone had multiple exits and entrances. Bottlenecks, street cars, billboard signs, necessary walls and lots of different floors of elevation usually made a soldier nervous with so many possible dangers. I mean, it might be scary if I was the one being hunted. But that was the Militia's job.

Out here though, the snow was getting heavier. Visibility was dropping by the minute as I picked off another grunt. I checked the battle map on my forearm and it still didn't register any possible pilot signatures in the area. An automated IMC titan thundered past and joined in the battle happening out on the flats. Militia titans with actual humans in them were wrecking the automated IMC products, but little by little their shields were depleting and the armor was bunged up. Despite the heavy casualties, the IMC always had another titan falling from the clouds to take its place. Those robots trudged over the remains of their predecessors and pressed closer and closer to the soft, mooshy inside of the Militia titans.

I decided I did not have to be the hunted one just because I was surrounded by snow and trees. I used my jump kit to scale the tree and then hung my data knife in the bark so I could hang. I waited a second for the jump kit to charge and then launched into the barrage of snowflakes. Using the momentum of the jumps, I was able to bounce like a pinball off of nature's giants.

I dropped in behind a pile of boulders. From here I had an excellent flanking position on Militia forces as they clashed with the main IMC forces. Stray rockets crashed into trees with a trail of smoke. Muzzle flashes spit out deadly tracers in a crazy lightning storm across the battlefield. Titans, the gods of battle, were locked in duels with car sized weapons or iron crushing fist fights.

The way a Militia Pilot runs is completely different than any other person. For the obvious one, they are faster than the grunts, they sprint in long strides and have jump kits similar to mine. For the more subtle reason Militia Pilots run differently is their attention span. Most of the time they run like they are completely frightened and it might be their first time outside the simulator. But their eyes are easily attracted to the big explosions or big events that are happening in battle. I can tell they are not really planning. They rely on their reactions and equipment too heavily and think only second to second. Of course the case is different for IMC Pilots. We are trained to look for tendencies, weaknesses, and different passages to route our enemies. While the Militia is occupied with Titan footfalls that make the earth quake, IMC pilots see boot prints in the grass and smell jump kit exhaust on the walls. Militia grunts are slow moving cattle and their compatriot pilots hop around like deer. Grey skinned cougars stalk their prey efficiently wearing IMC patches on their shoulders. But as with any ecosystem, the predators have been eliminated over time and the population of hopping deer has multiplied.

One such deer left footprints as it ran through a group of Militia cattle. I saw the footprints first but the hazy outline of a cloak running became clear to me. I rested the G2A4 Rifle on the snowy boulder and tracked the outline. Leading just slightly, I fired and the bullet tore into the Militia pilot's shoulder. Blood flew out of its body but still remained cloaked. I fired once more and heard another thump of bullet and bone. The cloaked pilot turned and fired a Hemlock burst in my direction. The cloak disabled and a bleeding female pilot tried to line up the shot to save her life. But it was too late when my last shot went from my HCOG sights to her throat. She clutched her neck and the grunts ran for cover as the pilot's blood splashed on them.

Should I count that as a head shot?

Nah.

A missile whizzed over my helmet and I engaged the cloak on my suit out of instinct. The missile slammed into a tree forty feet away. I tucked myself as tight to the boulder as I could. The series of explosions decimated the thick tree trunk and the tree didn't land back on the ground until the successions of explosions ceased. I brushed the wood and snow off of my cloak and poked my head up over the boulder's edge. A Militia Ogre rumbled up the hill to finish me off with its triple threat. I needed to bail out but if I tried to jump kit onto the trees to get onto the Ogre there was the possibility the pilot inside would see my jump kit and throw a wild punch into an invisible, pulverized me. I had to act quickly because pebbles fell off the boulder that was my cover as the tank loomed closer. Its shadow casted over the boulders that I used to be hidden behind when slaved, homing rockets slammed into its flank. It whirled around and two IMC titans bounded through the trees. Another Ogre unleashed a rocket salvo that found its mark on the Militia Titan and the shields went down. I could tell that these IMC titans were guided by the merciless hands of IMC Pilots. A titan under a disciplined IMC Pilot moved like silk across the body of a beautiful woman. We took war as a discipline, as an art that had to be mastered.

The IMC Ogre sent deadly 40 mm cannon rounds into the armor of the Militia Ogre and the IMC Atlas was coming hard at the flank for the kill. The Militia Ogre only delivered one volley of Triple Threat grenade but the IMC Atlas let the shields take that damage as it closed the distance.

I glanced around the boughs I had perched myself. The last death I wanted was to be picked off by a sniper while titans duked it out. What a tragedy, like dying during your favorite sports program.

Before the IMC Atlas reached arm's length the Militia Pilot ejected from the doomed Ogre. The ashen corpse of deranged, fiery metal collapsed into the snow. The IMC Atlas kicked the dead Ogre pieces and looked around the tree tops. I already had my rifle and tracked the flight path of the pilot. I didn't want to waste pot shots on that type of helpless victim. I was not too keen on giving up this good spot in the crook of a tree branch. The Militia pilot coasted through the sky and tactfully retreated like the other Militia forces.

I stood up on the bough and ran the length of the branch until it could hold my weight no longer. Pushing off the branch, I ignited the jump kit and heard the wind and snow whip against the side of my helmet before I landed with a thud on the back of the IMC Atlas. I had almost forgotten communication with other pilots. The Atlas would scan my suit and indicate to the pilot inside a friendly was on board. But the IMC Ogre aiming its 40 mm cannon did not know and fired a round at me. The whoosh of the round flew right over my head and I screamed into the com as the image of Harris' dislocated lower half flashed before my eyes.

"Friendly on board the Atlas! Cease fire!"

The Atlas beneath me faced the Ogre and held up its arms to protect me in case another round barreled through the falling snow.

"Crimeny, I nearly lit you up pilot. Learn to call in!" A thick, British accent from a man spoke into the com.

"My bad, been working alone for a while." I replied.

I heard a bang from inside the Atlas I was on top of. "That mean you the man on the ground from the 40th Squadron?" said the Atlas pilot. The IMC was a large, motley crew of races, breeds, and reputations. The draw in was money. This voice was a young Russian or Czech, I could not quite tell. I replied the affirmative to his question.

"No wonder you are all dead making stupid moves like that." The British pilot in the Ogre grumbled. At first, rage lanced into my fingertips; I wanted to rip that guy out of his Titan and gouge his eyes with my thumbs. Except the fact was I had just made a really dumb move. I was a Lieutenant in the IMC I couldn't follow basic protocols for boarding a friendly Titan. That British pilot was probably anxious and angry for nearly obliterating one of the most valuable, deteriorating, resources of the IMC: human pilots.

"That was a dumb move, I know and I'm sorry." I said into the com. The Titans marched together to go after the fleeing Militia. Militia grunt bullets bounced off the Atlas' shields. "But better pilots than me are dead anyways. Let's finish these terrorists and I'll buy you fellas a round."

A better pilot put her hand on my shoulder. Kinkaid Marcela used me as leverage and lowered her bottom onto the stool next to me. The cool, brown skin of her hand rubbed her back.

"Oy, kickin' all dat Militia ass today be hard on this ol' girl's back." She gave my shoulder a squeeze and evil intentions crept into her eyes with a smile. "Perhaps you gonna be willin' to rub summa these sore muscles for me, Autto?"

The smoke from the ship lounge, already sixteen credits deep in liquor, and Kinkaid's perfect lips smiling at me made it a very appealing offer. The seduction was incredible but I resisted. Instead I said, "I'm sure Gracie wouldn't mind doing that favor for you Kinny."

Kinny scoffed, "Gracie ain't no grip you gotten. She can't push deep into the muscles like I know you can."

Kinny was one of my best friends but it pissed me off that she thought that all the other male pilots in the 40th Squadron were her play things. The worst part was that she knew that my attention belonged elsewhere; Kinny just didn't like having to compete for every bit of attention. Kinny wasn't a whore passed around but instead a notorious coquette. The "I'm sore, rub my muscles" was her most faithful trick of getting a green pilot to spend lots of money on her, give a good back rub, and then leave him with a thank you and a peck on the cheek. Don't ask me how I know this.

Good God, how could this all be only seven months ago-?

Luckily, before Kinny could keep pushing me into a sour mood, James ordered a light beer and sat beside me. We had just finished searching a clearing out a colony on one of the fringe worlds and would have two days leave. It was hard fighting in the colony and we still had an undetermined number of space travel days while Vice Admiral Graves was tracking his former wingman, James MacAllen.

James put his hand on the back of my neck and said, "Autto, today was one of those rough days."

I nodded but looked deep into the dark color of my pint. We didn't know that it was the beginning of a long string of rough days for the IMC. We were still the biggest, the baddest, and the toughest. Except today was something different. The Militia came down hard, much harder than we expected. The new automated Spectres had were just finishing rounding up and executing supposed Militia supporters when a rescue squadron of pilots and titans dropped right into that little town. We got all the IMC supporting colonists to safety but there were plenty of screams amidst the smell of burning crops.

"Oh don't be puttin' on all that negative bullshit Jimmy. I come here to have a drink not a 'hug and cry'." Kinny sneered. But then she put the back of her hand on my earlobe. "I guess I'll go see Gracie like you told me to. But keep me in mind will ya Autto?"

Kinny got up and sashayed over to the table where Gracie and Zane were eating Torono Nachos. Jimmy finished his beer and slammed the glass on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "I apologize if I interrupted you getting some mate, but you are the only person I feel like I could talk to."

"Don't worry, I tie myself to Alice. Kinny just likes to flirt."

"There's a reason she's like this tonight. It's because Draco's gone." James somberly said as another beer poured in front of him. My stomach hit the bottom of my body. I should have known that was the case. As far as anyone in the IMC knew, Kinny had only slept with one pilot, and that was Draco Hasashi.

"And the worst damn part is," James continued, "is that it's my entire fault, mate."

"Come, comrade, you shouldn't be saying things like that. War is war. A Militia pilot killed him, not you."

"You don't understand Autto," James looked hard into my eyes. "I hesitated one second and that was the end of Draco."

James was the best sniper I ever met. The strangest part was that he was actually terrible with the Longbow and the G2A4 (I had already discovered my connection with the semi-automatic gun). But for a short, skinny man, James Canelo was a terror with the Kraber AP Sniper. I have no idea how he felt safe toting that tremendously long gun into the battlefield. Most of the time he didn't set up on the edges of the battlefield and try to pick off crows from the rooftops. Instead, he brought his sniper skills right into the middle where he could provide us pilots the best support. He even had a confirmed kill of a Militia pilot ejected out of a titan. He would have had many more headshot notches on the stock of his barrel if he followed the same ritual as me. Except now, he blamed himself for the death of one of our close-quarters combat pilots.

James leaned close to my ear and his breath already deep in his cups swam over me. We were already isolated from many of the other pilots and grunts but he wanted this in confidence. James was known for being the saving angel in battle. His Atlas Titan had giant white wings painted on the arms. I am sure he had saved my life without even me knowing it.

"It was on the main street of the colony. Militia pilots were pouring out everywhere. It was a freaking grenade carnival on the rooftops. My spotter was already nicked with some shrapnel in the back. I couldn't move him but it was getting hot quick."

James was quiet for a moment. His eyes searched the bottom of a glass. I bought him another beer. He only began when he had finished the whole glass in front of him.

"So I left her. A grunt. I don't recollect her full name." He ran his hand through his black hair. "The titans were really mixing it up down below. Rockets and Triple Threat grenades, thicker than fleas they were. So I was keeping my head down and picking some easy grunt targets. That is when I saw Draco. His shotgun was making a mess of the Militia. A sniper up in the tower, remember, the central one? He tried to get Draco but I got the blimey first. Draco disappeared into a bar. The next time I saw him he was on the balcony. He was in hand to hand combat with a Militia Pilot. I had both of them in my scope but they were locked so close . . . I couldn't get a clear shot. A Kraber round basically cuts a man in half, I couldn't risk that happening to Draco, not after all the times he watched my back. I just needed Draco to push the attacker away but it never happened. I think the other pilot got his knee and spun behind him. That's when I saw the son of a bitch put his hands around Draco's face and he—he, he turned his head all the way around. I swore Draco saw me, sitting their helpless for one second. And the next, I saw the back of his head."

The bar was nearly empty now. We had not increased our distance from each other. We were still intimately close. James's jaw was as rigid as the crest of a cliff. Only a weight could make it all break apart.

"What's killing me Autto is I didn't kill him. I was so struck by what I saw that I didn't pull the trigger. My crosshairs just dangled there, watching Draco hit the floorboards of that balcony. Here I am, an IMC pilot that has seen more shit through a scope than all the damn Militia combined, and I couldn't even move my trigger finger. By the time I gathered my wits, the Militia pilot was gone."

He put his head on his hands on the bar and squeezed his eyes shut. "I didn't kill him. I killed Draco."

At that moment, I realized there was absolutely nothing I could say to console the IMC sniper. No woman could ever offer solace, no psychologist could hand him a healing pill, and nothing in the stars could erase what James had seen. I remained with him the rest of the night. This war was finally real now. I decided that I would kill every bastard Militia Pilot I could find. When I ran out of ammunition, I would use my hands.

The IMC had definitely suffered defeats. If anyone talked to pilots they would say that their side is winning the war. Both the IMC and the Militia report inflicting massive casualties on the enemy. Victory or defeat depended which side you were asking on who was actually winning a majority of the battles. I have bagged quite a few Militia pilots but they seem to be unending. Where we have infinite machines, they seem to have hordes of drunkards and revolutionaries willing to tote a pistol into a titan. The scary thought was IMC pilots who defected. I hoped I would not have to cross one of those mean, clever killers. News reporters for the Militia who tried to counter "the propaganda machine" of IMC news tried to say that human pilots for the IMC were all but wiped from the face of the universe. I could not deny that we had suffered casualties. Currently I was the last survivor of IMC 40th Pilot Squadron, a fifty, elite pilot company. Yet we weren't dead yet. We sacrificed quantity for quality in every pilot. 98% of us did not die in training like the rumors said but that high of a washout rate wanted a failure to end his or her life. Our limited number of pilots was shrinking with this war that was dragging out far longer than anyone expected. The Militia victories were not expected, especially by themselves.

This unprecedented turning point was never clearer than when the once rag-tag band of outlaws thwarted one of the most heavily defended refueling stations in the Yuma system. The explosion of Demeter annihilated many good pilots that day, fighting for both sides. Stories went about that everyone was fighting right up to the explosion. My squadron, the 40th, was assigned to salvage and scour the remains of that battle. One part of me was glad I wasn't there when it all went down. But another part of me imagined there would not be a more glorious way to go. We saluted those IMC pilots who gave their lives and their paychecks that day with a round at the bar.

Another story about Demeter though was the evacuation. Neither the Militia nor the IMC called in dropships once the reactors went critical. If anyone interviewed the brass they concluded that the situation had already become too dire to risk more ships. Rumor was though that MacAllan had refused a rescue ship and all his pilots agreed to die with him. What was not rumor though was Spyglass's decision to reroute IMC rescue ships. A robot blatantly overruled Vice Admiral Graves. Blisk was on the last ship to leave the surface.

He grew quieter once he was promoted to captain. They weren't somber thoughts, I could tell by his face they were the malicious broodings of revenge. Graves had forsaken his post and now a robot ran the show for the IMC. Vice Admiral Spyglass was connected to every mechanical design in the IMC but shareholders felt safer in artificial intelligence than a man from South Africa. I remember distinctly finishing a round of combat films with him. They were from green IMC pilots defending the corporate headquarters of Hammond Industries. I can't say I did much better than those young guys but I lived. The screen went blank and we sat in silence for a few uncomfortable moments.

I finally said, "Captain, permission to speak freely, sir."

"Go ahead Autto."

"Do you trust the IMC's decision to put Spyglass in command?"

"Doesn't matter what I trust Lieutenant. We put down the Militia and we go home with the winnings, simple as that. War is quiet simple actually."

A twinge twisted my ear as those words fell down on me. Simple? What about the hours of film study, the conditioning of our bodies, and the countless showdowns in the combat simulator? Captain Blisk was not who he was. I thought he had been ousted from a rightful command of mankind's most fearsome fighting force.

"Sir," I said, "Have you ever read the play _Othello_? It is a really old story."

"I believe I have. Shakespeare isn't it? The English bloke?"

"Do you remember the character Iago at all sir?"

Blisk was quiet for another moment. Then he looked me right in the eyes. He said nothing. He got up and walked out of the room. That was the last time we spoke on a personal level. It was back to business from then on.


	6. Chapter 6

IMC CHAPTER 6

Dear Readers,

I am grateful for your time reading these fan fictions of one of the best video games ever made. I apologize for the bouncing back and forth in flashbacks and present time without the aid of lines to separate. It's about time I got this plot moving.

Sincerely Yours,

Bobby Redshirt

We had routed the Militia this time. The clouds parted and a warm sheen glazed the snow covered landscape. It was only a moment to admire the purity of the frontier before I saw the battlefield remnants. Militia and IMC titans discarded across the field like broken toys. Grunts and Spectres twitching their last as the frost came to take away their last breaths.

This was the way of the universe. No other way existed. None that I can recall.

I rode on the back of the Atlas Titan all the way back to the waystation my squad had visited that morning. The other Ogre with the British pilot inside followed along with two automated Stryders. The IMS Havoc was burning through the atmosphere to anchor above the mountain range. When we arrived, Captain Blisk and his personal guard of pilots and Spectres had travelled here by Titan.

Before we reported to our commanding officer, I finally noticed something about the Titan I was riding. It knelt down and a young Russian man clambered out. He lifted up his visor and he had strong, angular cheek bones underneath smug, dark eyes. I shook his hand and said, "I didn't notice until we arrived that your titan has no weapon."

"It is a new Titan we are trying out. Sacrifice the weapon for more ordnance and armor. As you can see, this is an Atlas chassis with the reinforced armor of the older model Ogres. Not the great big ones we have now. My job is to scare the living piss out of Militia Pilots before I crush them." He punched the palm of his glove and twisted his fist to grind, "like this."

"I really like the black paint. Have they given it a name yet?" I asked.

"The engineers gave it some complicated name involving numbers and such but I like to call it Ivan the Terrible."

Sure enough, in sloppy white paint was the name IVAN across the top of the cockpit.

"A terrible idea quite certainly," said a voice behind us. The British pilot from the Ogre hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and shook his head. He actually had long blonde hair and a sizable beard the same color. The bright yellow caught me off guard because it was way past IMC Pilot Regulations but hell, I guess the company had bigger problems to worry about than a few whiskers.

The pilot did not offer his hand but his light blue eyes scanned the crouching, black Titan. "Going into a fight without a gun seems completely pointless to me. I might as well melt it down and use it as a cannonball." He spat into the snow.

"This is my supportive wingman Renly Stuarts, as I am Dmitri Karamazov."

I introduced myself. Renly gave a smug scoff and looked up at the mountains. But before we could even move over to Captain Blisk for debrief, a set of Spectres came from the smoky battlefield. I was not surprised to see Harris, Gracie, and Jimbo leading a troop of robots. We pilots stayed quiet as the Spectres went to stand behind us, like nosy chaperones at a middle school dance. Renly brought his gaze back to us and we all eyed each other. The seething emotions were on full display between all of us but we spoke not a word.

We met Captain Blisk and his entourage in the middle of the square. The snow was completely melted from the Titanfalls and underneath was blue earth and patches of scorched grass.

A breeze ruffled the grey fur around Blisk's neck. "Tell me what the happened here, Lieutenant."

I recounted him the events of the Militia ambush staged beneath the guise of a mining camp. I executed the head miner and was jumped by two Titans. From there the battle was carried over to the valley down below.

"Aye," Blisk grumbled. "And we are no closer to finding Graves. The bastard has to be close. He knows you pilots are the hot commodity and he's willing to pull that kind of sleight of hand bullshit ambush. He turned out to be a coward as bad as MacAllen. A goblin is waiting to take you to IMS Havoc. All of you are on standby orders for the next twenty-four hours. Be ready to jump the second I look at you."

"Yes, sir" we bumped our chests and started to walked away.

"Oy by the way Lieutenant," Blisk called and I turned around. "The 40th Squadron is no more. You are with the Crows now."

"Yes, sir."

The goblin ramp dropped and an Indigo Dropship came and loaded two titans into its massive hull with robotic arms. It would disassemble the Titans as it hovered there and store the pieces for transport up to the ship for repairs or keeping them ready for orbital drops.

I turned to Dmitri, "so are the Crows you guys?"

"I am sorry friend, but it was nice knowing you." The young pilot replied. His eyes were full of sympathy, like looking at a friend in a casket.

"What then are these Crows? I've never heard of them."

"You aren't supposed to know about them," Renly butted in. "I was actually a part of that small squad for one mission and then I was done. I don't have a damn death wish."

"Oh—"

"But you'll fit right in Autto. They happen to be idiots too."

I wanted to fire something back at him but that near brush with death on the back of friendly titan kept my tongue bit down tight.

On the floor in front of my cabin door was a circular patch. I picked it up and looked at the meditative black bird on a wire. Beneath the wire were the words _videmus mortuis_. I knew no Latin but it already did not sound like an appeasing assignment.

After my shower I stood in the middle of the cramped cabin. Jimbo stood in the corner, quiet. Gracie and Harris were back at their positions in front of my door after they escorted me from the shower room. I scratched under my chin. I held the sleeve of my IMC Pilot Combat jacket with the 40th Squadron emblem on it—a bold, white forty on a blue ocean wave with a red sky. Our company motto was, "Not the ark, We _are_ the Flood".

I ripped the patch off the shoulder and crushed it in my fist. My eyes shut tight as all the faces of my friends turned to Spectres. Into the water I went, my one last shot at redemption. Alice was there, reaching out from the flood that killed the world. My world. We both reached for each other in that oceanic darkness but I noticed no bubbles came from her mouth.

The 40th Squadron patch hit the floor like an expired leaf. I took the Crow patch with my fingers and then pressed it down into the cloth. The adhesive worked quickly. Jimbo leaned around my shoulder. His electronic retinas detected what I had done.

"Congragulations, sir," It beeped.

"I wouldn't speak so soon Jimbo." My hands felt the material of the patch. I felt I had to touch the thing to make what was happening actually real. A new company. Butterflies turned to dust in the desert of my stomach. An ominous feeling slithered through my fingertips as it passed over the black sewn words _videmus mortuis_.

I had looked up the translation.

It meant: _we see the dead_.

A message beeped on my wall monitor and woke me up from a light doze. I didn't really value sleep anyways. It was only an electronic message that said: _Report to C Deck—Hall 19—Cabin 237_.

And that was it.

I put pants and my jacket on and walked out the cabin. A noise made me stop in the hall. Not a noise actually, but the absence of a noise. I turned around and the Spectres waited like the stone sentinels of an Assyrian warlord. I leaned in front of them and could not shake the confused look on my face.

A moment passed and nothing happened. I finally said, "aren't you coming?"

Gracie turned its head to me. "Now that you are a part of CROW-IMC-01 we are no longer your security detail."

I looked up and down the hall. I dared to take one more glance at the two Spectres. I spun on my heel and walked out quickly.

Finding that particular room in this tremendous ship was like digging up a grave in the middle of the prairie. It took me awhile to find the hall on the C deck and that same ominous feeling washed over me as I stood before the door marked 237. The hall looked like it was never frequented by humans and had that particular cleanliness that is unnerving. It was as if only blind caretakers were allowed here.

I had had no idea how long I stood in front of the door before I raised my hand and knocked. It was something I forced myself to do. I was an officer of the IMC and some place was making my skin slither onto the floor?

The door to 237 in Hall 19 opened.

And there stood Alice.

I nearly collapsed onto the metal grate floor. She tilted her head with a puzzled look on her face. But her face was not Alice's. She was not Alice. She was nothing like Alice actually but she did have blonde hair. The woman who answered the door was tall and nearly looked me in the eye. Her features like her crow's feet and the lines of her mouth made her respectable but not exactly beautiful. That is when she opened her lips and an achingly wondrous sound said simple words. "Kax Autto? Come on in. Welcome to the Crows."

I still tried to shake the horrible, exhilarating image of Alice out of my head.

Stepping in I expected to see a small cabin since the hall beyond the shut door appeared to be a regular cabin hall for housing pilots. Instead it was a large rotunda much like grunt bunks. At the edges of the circular room were bunks each accompanied by a desk and locker. Six bunks with four IMC pilots inside. The woman closed the door behind me and offered her hand.

"My name is Jennina Kerrigan. Come on guys, (she said to the other pilots milling about) why don't you come out of the dark there and introduce yourselves?"

Three came out and shook my hand. Despite the order, Jennina took it upon herself to introduce them. A tall, red-haired man with a mustache was Fox. An oriental man with a ridiculously strong handshake was Samurai. A large black beard, (I was astounded, I couldn't remember the last time I saw a man wear a full beard like that) gave me a toothy grin. Once again, an unimaginative name for him, Blackbeard. Finally, the fourth pilot who did not rise from his bunk but when introduced as Maverick he turned his head towards my direction and said, "sup?" without even looking at me.

"And our gatekeeper," said Blackbeard as he pointed at Jennina, "is the Dragon."

I had heard of many IMC outfits giving each other codenames but pilots in the 40th Squadron just didn't do it. We called each other boy our names. Also, something else was very peculiar about this little gang.

"I don't mean to be rude, but what are your ranks?"

Samurai picked it up without missing a beat. "We are not anything like the IMC, for all intents and purposes we wear the patch, but that is just about it. We are all pilots, but our offices' ranks have been dissolved for the most part."

"You've got to be kidding me?"

Samurai shook his head, "we're not. I know you don't know much about us because you are aren't supposed to. You might as well consider the IMC a thing of the past."

A sudden, pale cement block dropped down into my stomach. I was no longer part of the IMC? It was my life, the company was all I had left.

The Dragon Lady read the discomfort on my face. "Take it easy Kax, Samurai's description is mostly right. We are part of the IMC yet at the same time we are not."

She saw that I still didn't understand so she went on.

"CROW stands for Caustic Reconnaissance On War. It is kind of a cheesy name but it has to fit to what the outfit used to be called. See, when the IMC first broke through to the Frontier, they created the subsection called Cosmological Reconnaissance Of Worlds. They tagged along with the first explorers and documented the movement of all the new planets and stars in the Frontier. As you know, as colonization grew, the need for exploring lessened. People weren't trying to push out farther. Essentially, the CROW program was mothballed in theIMC database but was not completely erased. That is until Sergeant-I mean, Captain Blisk found it. He rotates pilots in and out of the CROWS without raising any alert in the IMC database which is directly linked to Vice Admiral Spyglass. Since Spyglass is linked to every IMC machine and program, Blisk can put us into this section and Spyglass doesn't know half the difference. We take very little out of funds so we aren't notice. But the majority of our pay comes directly from Captain Blisk."

I had to lean on one of the tables to try and get everything what she said straight. Finally it clicked and I said, "so essentially we are Blisk's hidden dagger against Vice Admiral Spyglass?"

Dragon smiled, a pretty smile, "that nails it right on the head."

"So we are privateers?"

Blackbeard itched his massive black beard, "Technically the entire fighting force of the IMC are privateers. We engage in combat without the backing of an organized government. Yet the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation is now so well synthesized with politics and the economy that it is the governing body of the Frontier. So we crows are a return to Blisk's old South African mercenary days."

I should have known that Blisk would not be so blind as to follow an artificial intelligence controlled by a profit driven corporation without at least having an ace of up his sleeve. He may have recognized me as a fit for the crows when I brought up Iago from _Othello_ or from something on my last mission .

"However, being a Crow is not that easy." Dragon had sat down and was resumed what she must have been doing before I knocked on room 237, cleaning her auto pistol. "We get absolutely none whatsoever Titan support. It would raise too many suspicions for Spyglass if the Cosmological Reconnaissance of Worlds program were dropping Titans fully loaded with weaponry planet side. Instead we are Blisk's eyes and ears not only in what the Militia is doing, but what the IMC is doing around him.

Spies.

Dragon grimaced, "close, but I wouldn't say we are that dishonorable, I would say our line of work is more . . . 'double recon."

"Don't worry though" Samurai cut in. "We still get into the fight. See, Blisk rotates us in and out of the Crows. Only Blackbeard has stayed here the whole time. He holds the house or the Rookery as we like to call it, together while we are out. We reserve out of combat duty with the IMC to accomplish "Exploration History" for our education credits after we leave the IMC. Pretty clever idea if you ask me. Just make sure that you keep your Squadron patch so you can put it back on."

I bit my lip and said, "I threw mine away because my squadron was dissolved today. I was the last of the 40th."

They all sucked in their breaths and even the young Maverick looked over from his bunk.

"Damn, I didn't know the 40th got whittled down so much. You guys were in all the thick stuff." Samurai said.

The door to the Rookery opened and one of the most imposing women I have ever seen marched into the room. Her back was as iron straight as her lips. Her head was shaven. While that would deter men most of the time, this woman wore it in a way that made her distinguished. No girly tricks here, just a woman with fists as hard as the green emeralds in her eyes. Her heels snapped together and everyone came to attention, even the kid lounging in the bunk jumped up to his toes. I followed accordingly.

She located me immediately and marched right up to me. She inspected my ruffled collar and loose belt latch. I could not believe how nervous the smell of her bland, fruity deodorant made me.

"2nd Lieutenant Kax Autto. Sloppy presentation of IMC uniform and hair a quarter of an inch beyond regulation length."

Was this lady going to make me drop down and do push-ups like in Basic? And what about Blackbeard? I thought angrily. But I kept my mouth shut.

"Ten confirmed pilot head shots and a rather impressive history in combat drops. Yet what does raise some suspicions are the three days of unexplained AWOL in Haven and being reportedly wounded before the Battle of Demeter. If you are the representation of the once proud 40th Squadron Lieutenant then you might as well bear my pity."

That's when it finally hit me. This was the 40th's former Squadron Commander Nina Reynoso.

"Commander, I-I" I stammered but she scowled so sharply that it felt like a slap in the face.

"Cut the commander crap. I'm a Sergeant now but now that you are devoid of IMC rank for the time being I have the authority over you." Reynoso snapped her attention over to Dragon, "has he been briefed as to what we do here?"

"Yes ma'm, I think so ma'm." Dragon did not dare look at her. I noticed a competition might have boiled once between these two combative women but now Reynoso held all the cards.

"you think?' That shows me the intellectual fortitude of this outfit. Damn disgrace the real IMC has to rely on disappointments such as yourselves. Remember that you are the remnants of broken Squadrons, Battle Companies, and Titan Squads. But you only have one thing going for you."

"You are human."

"And that's about it. The IMC has to increasingly rely on machinery but we are what makes this a real company and a real fighting outfit. As Crows we fight in the shadows and we aren't afraid to get bloody. _We see the dead_."

 _"We name dead!"_ the four other pilots in the Rookery cawed. But the real shivers ran up my spine when Nina Reynoso, the Commander of my squadron that I hardly ever knew looked at me over her shoulder and said, " _but we shall never be_ "

"At ease soldiers," said Nina Reynoso. "We have left our defensive strategy for the time being to investigate Militia weapons testing and the possible presence of Graves on this ice box we are floating over. Blisk has three possible options for where Graves might be hiding but Spyglass doesn't need to know about them yet. Now that we are evened out with the addition of Autto we can take three teams down. Samurai and I will be landing six clicks outside of zone A. I will brief you in more detail later Samurai. Dragon and Blackbeard will blend into a work detail of laborers contracted from Hanes Space Technical that are assisting Militia base camps on this planet. They will search zone B. Maverick, you are going to take our rookie to get his feet wet eight clicks from zone C. Satellite images indicate that it may be an abandoned coal factory."

"As you know, you will all be going in lightly armed. There are no Titan support or any IMC reinforcements. You are on your own out there. The best when it can be its best. If you are captured the IMC will deny any affiliation with you and will be marked off as a pirate from the Freeport systems looking for Graves bounty."

Reynoso finished with, "any questions?" there were none.

"Good. Autto and Maverick are leaving for planet side at 0600 hours tomorrow. Be at Goblin King dropship promptly."

She told the others on which goblin dropship they were supposed to embark. I stole a glance at Maverick. His face was bedecked with scars, looked mostly to come from fistfights. His jaw set at a grim angle. He had dark bangs that tried to sneak down to his embattled blue eyes. He may have been a few years younger than me but his body had taken severe amounts of abuse. Not that he didn't look strong. He looked like he could box with bull and knock the beast out. Yet his fingers were crooked in odd angles and I noticed he had to flex and relax one hip periodically.

Maverick looked like one bad dude. It came clear when we finally made eye contact as Commander-Sergeant Reynoso left the Rookery. A volcano of pain, suffering, and frustration clouded his retinas without making a sound. He came over and shook my hand hard, nearly breaking all the bones within.

"Autto, you seem like a pretty nice guy. But let's get something straight right fucking now. Don't be a shitbag and get us killed. Don't count on me to pull your sorry ass out of a sling if you put yourself there. I got your back though if you've got mine."

An angry surge came out of me and squeezed his hand back. I did not know where it was coming from. "I want your name Maverick."

He pulled his hand away without admitting defeat. "Travis Mercury from Jonas colony. Militia constituents burned down my family. I aim to make them pay, so you stay the fuck out of my way."

"Right."

"Good. Now what weapon do you run with?"

"The G2A4 Rifle."

"That's no good anymore. We are never in long distance fights. It is all right up in your goddamn face in the Crows. We are covert to the max. We got silencers even on our Hammonds or auto-pistols. Check our storage rack over there and get familiar with one of the submachine guns. Those are the only weapons worth taking. Unless you are like one of the Smart Pistol bitches."

At the weapon rack on the far end of the room I held the short, light R-97 Compact SMG. Many memories of running through the Training Grounds flooded into my fingers. I never though used the billeted silencer on the SMG. I would have to swing by the simulation room to try it out.

"Not a bad pick," Maverick said. "It's a little bitch gun too but whatever. As long as we can kill some Militia with it."

I asked him if he wanted to come to the simulation room with me or work out. He seemed so tense. "I already worked out twice today" he said, "and I don't really dig simulations. The real deal is better.

That was that. I went back to my cabin and picked up my belongings to move to Hall 19, Room 237. No spectres at the door or inside. It was like my friends who had passed on had just got up and moved out of my room. I tried to picture their faces but it was hard to see them without the black robots standing next to me, whirring and adjusting. Perhaps this was a part of moving on.

However, I would learn the Crow's phrase of _videmus mortuis_ -we see the dead, would be much more true than I like.

Dear Readers,

Travis Mercury is a graciously donated character from Golden Sheath, the author of "Titanfall: The Losing Side". Go and check out more of his story through the IMC if you wish.


	7. Chapter 7

IMC Chapter 7

Back into the ice bucket. If I thought laying in a zip-pod overnight was cold, it was nothing compared to stepping off the back of that Goblin dropship. The IMS Havoc made me soft to the snow with the very little time that I spent in orbit. Travis rubbed his arms as we watched the dropship named the Goblin King take off into the blustery, grey sky.

"Good luck out there boys," the pilot said into the coms, "have fun studying this craphole!"

We were Crows. We studied, not commit acts of violence while on crucial reconnaissance missions. I never realized how much IMC personnel downgraded each other. I suppose since I have always been a pilot people stepped aside. But Travis and I had hidden our weapons and ordnance in a duffle bag. They dropped us off with two snowmobiles but I had to coerce the mechanic to lend us at least that little bit of equipment. He just sat there on his fat ass with a toothpick in his gums. He hardly deigned to move at all despite all my pleading. I was this close to putting my pistol against his temple and making him watch as I cut off his fingers. But then again, that's an IMC pilot procedure in attaining needed equipment.

But like I said, as a pilot, everyone gave me space and no one ever questioned what I needed. Now that my 40th Squadron patch was gone, it was like I was some undisciplined civvie that everyone felt the ultimate need to crap on.

At least back on the snowy planet no one was here to hassle me. Of course, there was Travis "Maverick" Mercury here to do that.

"Come on and let's get on these snowmobiles and get out of this wind. I can't believe you even stayed the night down here in this shit weather." Travis said.

I hefted our duffle bag onto the snowmobile. It was supposed to for geological surveying equipment and atmosphere readers. Instead, it was loaded down with enough satchel charges to detach California (whatever that was, it was just a saying in the IMC), and small jars of jam. They weren't the jam for bread. Small metal capsules about the size of a hand grenade they magnetized to walls and wiring. They had to be placed almost directly on the wiring of radar and communication but if hidden well enough, the techs would not be able to find that little jar of jam for weeks. Imagine an entire army not being able to communicate for a week. Of course, the IMC usually dropped on top of them and blew up everything two days before the week was out.

Our snowmobiles buzzed over the desolate landscape. A flurry made everything dark so I had to follow the tail lights of Maverick's snowmobile through endless trees and hills.

Two hours later we arrived four miles from the coal factory. We parked the snowmobiles beneath the expansive arms of an ancient tree. Maverick held open a duffle bag for himself and we split the satchel charges and jars of jam. As he was screwing the black silencer barrel onto his C.A.R. SMG he said, "You know Autto, I don't think any of us crows have gone on a mission without getting a nickname. Maybe you just aren't meant to live that long."

For a young guy, he sure has a sharp tongue. Hopefully he doesn't have a dull mind; he was going to be watching my back. "Back in the 40th, we never used codenames, we just used last names."

Maverick rested on his gun for a moment. He seemed to be measuring me up. A fighter is prone to doing that. He said, "Goose? I could call you Goose. But that doesn't sound exactly right. Hmmm."

His face was obscured by goggles and a scarf but I could tell that it as twisted in consternation. While he grumbled different names to himself I stepped to the ridge we stopped upon. In the distance below was the coal refinery. It sat in the snow like a spider crouched in a hole. The tendrils and pipes of the refinery were its legs and the smoke billowing from it was its anger. Smoke? That meant that it was no longer abandoned, but we wouldn't know if they were Militia forces until we got down there.

I turned and Maverick's finger went into the air in the quintessential pose of "Eureka!"

"I got it! Your name is Krout!"

I stared back at him blankly.

"Oh don't give me that stupid look. Man, your German accent is so thick it's a wonder that anybody can understand you. You also shave your head bald as the day your mum gave you that awful name. What is the color of your hair anyways? Blonde?"

"It's brown," I said. I remembered receiving some comments about the way I spoke during Basic training but it had been so long since anybody pointed it out that I figured my accent had gone away. "It's actually a very dark brown," I added to clarify.

Maverick waved that away as irrelevant. "Alright Krout, you are now officially a part of the crows now. Now as I am the ranking senior over you, you are going to set up our transmitter up on that cliff."

"I thought the crows dissolved ranks? As long as we are on this mission both you and I are equal."

He stepped up and his clouded breath shot from above his scarf. "Listen, I don't think you've ever done a mission like this. You heard Reynoso back on ship, _no support_. No Titans, no nothing. We make one false move then our goose is cooked. Have you noticed we only got five clips for our SMG's? That's it, nothing more. When we are out, we are out and then the Militia has us. Now I'm going to put it nicely once more before I put my foot right up your ass. Go up on that cliff up there and set up the transmitter. Everything we report is directly linked to Sergeant Reynoso and if it's anything good, right to Commander Blisk."

I would have loved to cuff the short kid. But he was right about this mission. I had never served in anything that wasn't all out mayhem. I was used to Titans, fighter jets overhead, incoming artillery, and the whole nine yards. This was ghost territory. I was finally going to experience the "special" of my special forces title.

The cliff wasn't really that far up. I climbed it easily enough even without the aid of a jumpkit. I came back down and Maverick pressed the comm on his ear. "Do you read me Sergeant?"

"I read you Maverick. Are you at the refinery?" Reynoso's voice echoed in both of our comms.

"Yes ma'am. One click out. Krout and I are about to embark."

"Autto is Krout? Noted. Proceed with mission. Gather relevant information to the location of Graves and Militia troop movements. Sabotage targets of high importance. Reynoso out."

We shouldered the duffle bags and went to the ridge looking down on the coal factory. I pointed out to Maverick that smoke indicated that it was alive, not abandoned.

"Right, let's head down and see if there is a back entrance."

"Or," I grabbed his arm and pointed with my R-97 at the mountains above the refinery. "We can use our jumpkits to access those rocks above and come down onto the roof. There's bound to be entry points from there with less security and sensors."

"Not bad Krout."

"A man with a G2A4, has to have good distance and angle on his target, he cannot afford to run in and hold the trigger down. If we take through the woods there at the base of the refinery we could be riddled with sentry guns or snipers."

"That's assuming that this is even a Militia operation to begin with. These sites are just picked out from satellite images that Blisk filched when Spyglass wasn't looking. But I still like your idea. I need to stretch my legs some."

Using jumpkit for parkour is a little more challenging with a large load on your back. The difference is like swimming naked as opposed to swimming in a police officer's riot gear. At first we took separate paths to jump and run across the expanse of the snowy mountain, but I was getting slowed down with improper judgements of distance and the weight on my back. But Maverick proved to be an impeccable parkour runner. I have seen few IMC pilots who could handle the terrain like he did. Every flex of his muscle against the rock propelled him faster and farther and farther ahead. Soon I had to follow his line just to keep up.

Maverick stuck his dataknife into the rock and hung from a sheer cliff. I joined him and put my knife in as well. We hung for a few moments to gather our breaths.

"Alright," he said, "remember to land soft. Let's find an entry point and stay out of the open."

We let go.

Our bodies fell from half a mile above the roof of the refinery. Yet we landed as softly as the snow. Reverse gravity sensors in our pilot boots deadened our land so we did not snap every bone in our lower body from falling that far. The lack of burn suits were the only reason pilots could not be dropped through the atmosphere and survive the landing.

We had our guns ready and silently stepped around the pipes on the roof. Black smoke billowed out of the stacks and pilfered the air with putrid, overdone barbecue smell. We located the door to the roof and luckily it was unlocked. Whoever was here now had not been upstairs much. That gave me the feeling more that Militia personnel were under our feet. Before we left the outside, Maverick stuck two satchel charges at the base of a large smoke stack. Topple it like a tree. While he set those up I glanced over the edge of the roof.

Down in the snow were several vehicles moving equipment around. Men were using shovels to uncover ancient train tracks that went out into the wilderness. Everything looked like a normal coal operation until I saw the wind open a flap of one of the trucks. An unmistakable plasma railgun. Here be Titans.

I pointed it out to Maverick and he gave me the thumbs up.

We descended into the building and out of the cold. I pulled back my hood and adjusted the night vision on my helmet's visor. Parts of the roof had caved in and snow fell from the sunlight coming in. Everywhere else on the floor was water. The new activity had melted a lot of the snow that had once buried this place in a mountainside tomb.

Two floors down, we came across our first contact. Two Militia grunts had a flashlight and were looking through waterlogged files.

"I can't believe we get sent on this bullshit to find building files. Where in the hell are we supposed to find the blueprints to this drenched place?" One of the grunts continued to complain. "Hell, this place doesn't even have warm showers yet where we are."

"Quiet!" the other one whispered. "I think I heard something."

"Probably Gunk Rats. God knows those things are probably crawling all over the place around here. Bring that light back over here, I can't see anything."

Silent bullets went through their heads simultaneously and the shadows caught their bodies before they hit the floor. The darkness swallowed the two grunts. A glove came down and picked up two, warm pistol casings and carefully clicked off the flashlight.

After I carefully lifted the grate I pulled out the last satchel charge. I reached down and pasted the bag chock full of plastic explosives on the roof of a garage. Below me were five Stryder Titans, four Atlases, and three Ogres with standard Militia paint schemes. One Militia pilot was down in the garage with six satchel charges above her head and was testing out the movements of her Stryder. I didn't see the benefit of interrupting her then.

I put the grate back quietly as I could and the comm came alive in my ear. "Krout, come in"

"Copy Maverick."

"Get back to my position ASAP. We hit the jackpot sir."

He sounded excited so I hurried as much as I could without making a lot of noise and drawing attention. I followed my track of turns through the vents. At each corner that I turned I would mark it with a special marker that glowed on my night vision. I then followed the marks that Maverick had made. I found him looking through an air vent and he had a big grin on his face and an empty duffle bag. He pointed at the dim light coming through the slits but was careful not to allow any of the light touch him. I craned my neck around and saw through the legs of a computer chair the former Vice Admiral of the IMC. Marcus Graves

He looked thirty years older than when I last saw him on screen. His hair had greyed significantly and the crow's feet around his eyes had deepened to caverns. His dark face looked like an ammunition bag that had been left out and forgotten. Yet that bag was loaded down with countless military engagements and an old school style of war that included sweat, blood, and dirt.

Graves stood next to one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She had jet black hair done up in a red bandana. Even though she was in a parka, I could still see she had the body of a pilot, jaunty and quick. I then recognized her as one of the fifty faces all IMC personnel had to memorize, the fifty most dangerous Militia personnel at large. Her name was Sarah and she was the commander of the Marauder Corps. She had singlehandedly brought down the towers at Airbase Sierra, an unpleasant defeat that I had been a part of.

Maverick unfolded a tiny, audible transmitter and placed it in front of him. I switched on the camera feed on my helmet. We were transmitting everything in the room to Sergeant Reynoso live if she wasn't busy getting killed on her mission. Except the mouths would move before the words came on the feed—like watching an old, foreign film. Yet both of us knew that this would be directly transferred to Commander Blisk.

Sarah pointed at the table we could not see and she said, "IMC forces cut us off here before we could find what we were looking for. They came with a surprisingly large fleet and shipment of pilots."

Graves rubbed his chin and replied, "The IMC has its fingers in every database and communication device in the entire known Frontier. The way that we are increasing our ranks adds the unavoidable which is that we can't slip around unnoticed by being small. Spyglass and Blisk knows I am on this planet. And if there is anything they dislike, it's a turn cloak like me."

Sarah put her hand on his shoulder, as if consoling a worrying old father. "Marcus, you did the right thing."

It seemed like he took comfort in her touch, I knew I would. "But what they don't have here is a fleet," Graves continued. "Spyglass knows he can't spare many resources to pursue a vendetta when much more valuable company assets are in danger. The 1st Militia Fleet is laying siege to Waystation Sandtrap and Colonial Dig Site. We should have those locations under our control before the week is out."

"Which makes me wonder sir, why is Bish there and I'm here? Isn't what we are doing here a technological venture?"

Graves looked at her with narrow eyes. I bet that when he was commander of the IMC nobody ever questioned his moves. Either the Militia was still suspicious of his motives or they were just a damned foolish democracy around here.

Graves cleared his throat, "Bish would get too involved with what we are dealing with. It has a tendency to suck a man in. I can't really explain how or why, but I have seen it before."

"It'll suck in a man, but not a woman? I see how it is. Then you better be on guard, sir."

The woman put her finger on the comm on her ear and stepped away from view while Graves continued to look gravely at the table.

"Sir!" she said out of sight. "Scouts have found two snowmobiles parked on our perimeter. They are IMC manufactures."

Maverick and I took quick, sidelong glances at each other and held our breaths.

Graves turned his head away from the vent. "The IMC manufactures everything. Half the equipment here is salvaged from them. So what of it? Where do their tracks lead? Snowmobiles need drivers."

"The foot prints have been covered up with the snowfall. But they have also found some really old equipment on the cliff just above. They think it may be a transmitter of some sort."

Graves stood up straight and his fists clenched. "Destroy it immediately. Mobilize all grunt companies. I don't want any our Spectres online. Not yet. I want all pilots on combat alert. Get Henderson to sweep this place. I want every nook and cranny of this place doused with light."

"Ummm, sir, do you mean Vines? Henderson is the officer's cook."

"Yes, yes, Vines—the one with the limp."

I looked over at Maverick as he folded up the auditory receptor and I was just about to click off the visual feed on my helmet when Commander Blisk's voice spoke into our ear comms. "Gents, absolutely _nothing_ is to happen to Graves." The line then went quiet.

Both of us took out our remote detonators. I set my remote to detonate all of my satchel charges. Maverick set all of his to arm except for the two on the smoke stack. Thousands of tons of cement tumbling down wherever was never a good thing. I'm glad the kid Travis wasn't dumb. He held up three fingers and silently folded them down one by one. When he held a fist, we both pressed the remote triggers.

The entire building shuttered and the explosions were deafening.

"Sir!" Sarah shouted above the alert sirens, "fires reported in armory D and B. Garage 4 is completely offline, no readings. We have a major breach sir."

Graves moved like a commander, swift, and undeterred by the chaos descending upon his army. "Sarah, get grunt company delta and sigma at the front gates. Mobilize the titans and have the pilots ready up right now. I want fire teams in the armory to suppress the fire from spreading. All mechanics are to salvage what they can from the damaged garage. Not much is probably left of it. Contact the MS Belmont and have dropships ready at sector two-niner."

We could only see Graves. He turned back to the table and tapped his finger on it. He jerked his head up to add to the orders, "I want scanner sweeps of this floor and two squads on the deck."

Maverick and I were shuffling out through the vents when the last words muttered from Graves were, "this seems to have Blisk's touch to it—playing his own hand. What else have you got old friend . . .?"

We shuffled through the vents and heard the tromp of boots running above and below us. As we removed the last plate to get out of the vents, Maverick muttered, "Damn bro, how did he get onto us so quick?"

"That doesn't matter now. We need to get out of here."

"Agreed, let's got back up the way we came and see if we can hide on the mountainside."

"Hold on, you mean to tell me there is no recovery? We have to wait with those titans coming after us?"

"Why do you think I'm about to shit my pants right now? Nothing in the Crows is easy man."

Maverick pulled back the action on his C.A.R. and ran into the halls expecting me to follow. I said a quick prayer to any god that might be listening before I took off with my R-97 Compact after him. We raced through the red flashing halls until we came into the main refinery area by a suspended catwalk. Large melting pots and tremendous engines sat dormant as men and women of war swarmed around them.

A shout came from below, they noticed our grey jackets and suddenly our world erupted into sparks and the deafening sound of bullets. It was a good thing that Militia grunts can't shoot for garbage. We were completely expended on explosives; they had all been detonated except for the two on the smoke stack.

Maverick leaned over the edge and returned a burst as he kept running. I leaned over but all my experience told me to aim carefully. I finally found the closest grunt and pulled the trigger. The sub-machine gun sprayed bullets all over the place and the only damage it did to the poor soldier was submerge him in sparks. I continued running and that was as deadly I was with that gun. I couldn't believe that I had used that same gun for so long and now it was as alien in my hands as a Spectre with a baby, I just didn't know what to do with it. While Maverick killed soldiers with his C.A.R., I just kept everybody's heads down. And I mean everyone with that kind of bullet hose.

We dove into a suspended office to change our clips. A grenade crashed through the window. I picked it up, prayed it wouldn't detonate and tossed dropped back through. The explosion rattled my teeth and the screams of grunts were drowned out. Bullets flew through the walls and ripped the stacks of moldy papers. The place was becoming a piece of Swiss cheese very quickly. I looked at the gun in my hands and rage made me throw the thing across the room. I reached into my duffle bag.

Maverick fired a quick burst and ducked when a sniper bullet slammed into the ceiling. "What the—? I told you to leave that gun behind!"

"I know, but I cannot leave her behind. Just watch this."

This may have been famous last words but the world suddenly seemed right when I turned to place my G2A4 Rifle over cover with ten notches on the stock. The trick is to aim slowly in a hurry. Keep both eyes open. Squeeze the trigger softly.

Every shot connected with a mortal wound through the chest or nasal cavity. Maverick leaned over the shattered window and saw the six new corpses. "Damn, Krout, not bad! Last time I'll tell you off about that—."

A stray bullet ripped through floor and blood spurted from the top of his boot. He yelped but just leaned back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine," rage seemed to be boiling in his face. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

With that we raced out of the office and the bullets tagged at our heels. We wall ran to pick up speed and we aimed to reach the highest catwalk up to the roof. Maverick made it.

I did not.

The wall exploded underneath my feet and sent me tumbling through the air. An Atlas Titan blew through the debris and was looking for a particular IMC pilot to crush in its fist. My first reaction was to hit the cloak. I disappeared with the flying debris but missed the next catwalk by the length of a fingertip. I did not dare fire my jumpkit. The Atlas would get me. I continued to tumble through the air and landed on the second floor ledge. Maverick was up on the seventh floor. The grunts all around me continued to fire at the last place they had seen him. He must have activated his cloak as well. I jumped right to action to weave through the column of soldiers and careful not to brush any of them. The Titan could not see me and neither could the grunts; hopefully there wasn't a pilot in the room. A glance over filled me with more dread. The Atlas had a nasty, fully loaded X0-16 Chaingun in its hands, perfect for turning pilots into hamburger. Especially ones that had destroyed half the facility.

As I was about to wall run and ultimately compromise my position, hoping that the pilot inside the chaingun toting Titan would have half a heart not shoot me and kill half his grunts, the thought of surrender reared its ugly head. I only had a few seconds before the cloak would give out. I was hopelessly outnumbered by a swarm of green jackets. Not to mention an Atlas Titan in close quarters. I assumed the options were die now or die later in a torture chamber.

Unnerving thoughts went through my mind when the active camouflage dissipated and I threw down my rifle. Gracie was a Militia grunt that turned and saw me first. The burnt slabs of skin on her face peeled off when she called to her other grunts. I smelt the fire from her burning Atlas. Jimbo, with his eye shot by a sniper, shouted for me to hit my knees and put my hands behind my head. I knew Harris was behind me putting my hands into makeshift cuffs behind my back. Tears streamed down my eyes when Alice raised her rifle butt and bashed me in the face.


	8. Chapter 8

IMC Chapter 8

I felt my feet being dragged across the floor. People were holding up my arms. I knew this because they had skin beneath their clothes.

Sometimes, they spoke words to one another, a human thing to do.

Get the door for me.

No-you get the door.

Fine.

A chair in the very middle of the universe, an old, office chair. Even had rollers. They put me in it. One grunt punched me in the mouth as the other was connecting my cuffs to a chain on the wall. His fist tasted like sweat. Not the guy who chained me, the one who hit me. It wasn't Alice. Alice was never there. I was seeing ghosts. Militia grunts took me in, not the specters of fallen comrades. I shut my eyes tight as the grunt continued to punch my ribs. I tried to get the smell of Gracie's burnt flesh out of my nose.

Someone said stop and the hitting stopped. Amazing, I know.

I lifted my head and felt a million years old. I was a skeleton at the bottom of the ocean. I must have a stupid grin with an eel swimming out of my eye socket. The man in front of me must not find that as funny. He crosses his arms. He speaks again and it's a voice I know. A familiar one, like when mother used to scold me for beating up the neighbor's boy. He was older. I liked to hit him. This man, as familiar as my mother, spoke again and I open my eyes (with no eels anywhere!).

Marcus Graves.

He looks the same as when I was spying on him with Travis "Maverick" Mercury. Old.

"You are IMC," he says, "what's your name pilot?"

I want to tell him that I get homesick about once every three months. I just can't remember where home is. I want to tell him my name. I want to unharness my sins just like how mother used to teach me to pray.

So, "Krout" I say to him.

Graves nodded his head and stepped back. Before I know it my head snaps back so hard I thought my vertebrae was turned to roadkill. My eyes are still spinning when another hook flew into my jaw. It had that deliberately nasty angle of coming up so it felt my teeth had gone right through the hard palate on the top of my mouth. Something has to be bleeding in there because I tasted the acrylic, metal taste of blood. Just two punches and I wanted to be done with this interrogation. Graves stepped forward again and when the stars finally left my vision I saw the vicious Sarah wiping her knuckles with a rag. Sorry for the blood on your hand, jerk.

"What's your name? What unit do you belong to soldier? If I knew you I wouldn't be asking these questions." Graves said.

I replied again, this time with blood mixing with the spittle about my lips. "Krout. My name is Krout. It rhymes with scout."

My two interrogators exchanged glances. I am that unwashed skeleton in the closet that smiles every time the line of light from the door warms me.

I heard the click of a gun. A standard issue B3 Wingman stared me in the face. The barrel of the gun was endless. Sarah held the gun very steady when she said, "I say we ice this crazy IM-Shit right here. I can't even stand the smell of you."

I couldn't help but laugh. I did laugh out loud at the irony of my fate. "See!" I turned my bloody face to Graves, "I knew that the Militia killed prisoners. I know the IMC never executed pilots."

It was a second. Only a very small second where he did not respond and I think I got his mind going. Sure, the IMC had plenty of civilian blood on our hands. But this was war. "Today's civilian's are tomorrow's Militia", as Blisk had said. Yet here was the mysterious Sarah, proving that they were not better than the supposed corporate Satan: the IMC.

"So you are IMC? What is your unit son?" Graves had put away his contemplative face and now it was full of compassion. I wanted to tell him I was a proud member of the 40th Squadron. We fought alongside you, Graves. My friends gave their lives at your order. We pillaged the Colony, we tried to retrieve Barker for you, we lost Airbase Sierra, died at Demeter for you, and salvaged what we could from the loss of Corporate headquarters. The 40th had been bled over and over again to try and bring victory to your hands Vice Admiral Graves. Here I am, the stinking remnant of dead IMC pilots. The best of the best here in the heart of winter. I am proud to have served under you sir. I am proud to finally meet you. I am sorry that we did not win for you. I am sorry we all died, because I wished I had died in combat like they had..

I took a gulp, now back in the interrogation room (it was actually an office). I replied to Graves, "I used to be IMC years ago. I act on my own now."

Sarah put her fingers to her ear, and then she said, "Sir, seems that other pilot is trying to make his way here. He is making a ruckus down there."

"Go bring him back alive Sarah. I want both of them to be talking."

After she was gone, Graves came close and put his hand on the back of my chair. "You weren't with the IMC back when they were only in the core systems. You care too much. I can tell how bad you are hurt. I can see it. It has been a long, hard war. But I wouldn't change my mind to leave the IMC if I could do it over again. The IMC is nothing but faceless machines, loyal only to their operator. We don't even know who the operators are. Are they the shareholders? The executives? Do they reside on the Frontier or in the core systems like Earth, Mars, or Titan? You need to ask yourself these questions son."

Graves stepped away. "There's a reason we are here pilot. Anomalies have been growing and artificial intelligence errors have been multiplying each day. You may not notice this but the tech teams do, on both sides. Something is not right and we aim to find out what it is."

I was speechless. The main Militia leadership branch was here on this ice planet because of Spectre or AI Titan errors? That made no sense to me but the look on my face did not seem to upset him. He just sat down at a desk and pretended to look at some papers. Artificial intelligence, anomalies, Graves. I sucked at the ruptured part of the inside of my mouth. The taste was human, but perhaps for not very long?

"Spyglass—" I said and Marcus Graves looked up from his papers. "Never before has artificial intelligence has been put in command of so many military units. Once Vice Adm-I mean, once you left, the logical choice was to put Sergeant Blisk in command. Instead it went to a machine."

Graves leaned back in his chair. "You are a smart soldier to figure out so much so quickly. I guess that's how you've made it so far in the IMC. You really need to consider what is worth fighting for out here."

I could feel red rush into my face. This was my former commander. My friends had died for his sorry carcass. "With all due respect Graves, you left in haste after defeat looked imminent. You just want to be on the side that has the biggest chance of winning. I don't know what MacAllan told you but it's probably the same song the Militia has been belting out for years. They claim to be the peacekeepers when they bomb IMC factories. They claim to be merciful when they have hung IMC tax collectors in the streets. The Militia vouches for freedom when they require the lifeblood of every citizen on the Frontier. When they could be working and living they are now in a war that costs them everything. What is the Militia's plan after we leave, sir? What kind of democracy do they plan to initiate between the stars? The weak will then overrule the strong and it won't be long before some new military group rises up to depose the money leaking, festering government the Militia puts up under the guise of freedom. A rotation, a revolution of power that is endless and fueled by the deaths of millions across the Frontier."

"I know what I am fighting for Vice Admiral. I am fighting for peace on the Frontier. I may not agree with everything the IMC does but at least I know it is a power that is irrefutable. It is strong. It is for the strong to dictate and the weak to obey. People must acknowledge who is the power and succumb to it. That is what makes peace. Otherwise, it is just bloodshed for eternity."

Saying all that introduced a pounding headache. Even though I did not yell it, I felt just as strongly for the speech I had given. Fatigue settled on me. I wanted to just sleep or die.

Graves leaned forward with his hands clasped on the table. He was about to speak when the door to the office flew open after the sounds of an oncoming struggle. As sure as the sun rising in the morning, Maverick flopped onto the floor. He groaned and tried to pick himself up but Sarah delivered a hard kick into his ribs. With the wind knocked out of him, Militia grunts stood guard over him while Sarah addressed her commanding officer. A dry smile crept onto Grave's face.

"Is that a shiner I see Sarah? A regular, good one too."

She turned her pretty head and spit on Maverick. A great big black eye was swelling on her face. "I can't believe the bastard got one in on me sir. He sure can fight, the little prick."

Maverick couldn't wipe the spit off his jacket but he smiled up at her, the beating he took was much more severe. "Was that as good for you as it was for me sweet thing?" a bloody grin shined up at Sarah from the floor. Sarah reeled back to paste another plate of knuckles on him but Marcus Graves stopped her with the forceful, "that's enough Sarah. I need him to talk. Now, what silly name do you have soldier?"

"Maverick."

"And you do not work for the IMC? You just have their pilot's jacket?"

"Nope. I work on my own."

Graves rubbed his eyebrows, "that's what your partner said. Is he your partner?"

Maverick turned up to look at me, the grunts flinched, thinking they needed to hit him. Maverick then said, "I've never seen that ugly son of a bitch in my life. I'd remember someone that ugly."

 _Goddamnit Maverick._ I thought.

Graves leaned forward on his desk. His eyes looked wearier next to the gray hairs about his ears. "What unit do you happen to be from 'Maverick'? Your guises are useless we are not that stupid here."

"Like I said. I work alone. I don't know who this guy is."

The words he was saying could either get one of us or both of us killed. Yet we were at the mercy of the Militia. Fate was no longer in our hands. Fate was in the hands of Sarah when she put her finger to the comm on her ear again.

"Sir! We have incoming IMC dropships and droppods. A whole attack force is lighting up this area. Radar is even picking up Titan drop signatures in the atmosphere. Wait-" she listened for another moment. "The IMS Havoc has just jumped into our airspace. They must be dropping the titans right on top of us."

Graves stood up quickly and once again became the commander I wished I served again. "Mobilize every Titan available. I want the grunt companies at sector F and B. We are going to have to use the Spectres, we don't have a choice. I want them at the front to take the first hit, and then the pilots are going to defend the front while we evacuate our information."

Graves glanced at us and decided not to indulge anymore information to us. He motioned Sarah and the Militia grunts out of the room. They left us alone. It wouldn't be long before the sounds of war would start coming through the walls.

"I can't believe how unbelievably lucky we may be Krout." Maverick said. He was looking up at the ceiling, trying to keep the blood from his nose pouring into his mouth. "We spotted Graves and that meant all the difference. Otherwise, we crows would be dead or never see the light of day again, chained to this shit hole and left behind. Wow. What luck."

"Did you notice how reluctant he was to activate Spectres? He told me earlier that there have been strange things happening with the A.I.s lately."

"That was a bit strange. Spectres can really be an effective force so not deploying them if Graves has them is odd. One thing I didn't think about though, if Spyglass decides to level this place with an orbital barrage we have no escape."

"At least you can get up and run. I am chained to this chair."

"I can't run. That bitch broke my ankle in the fight. She got the jump on me but I let her have a couple a good blows to the face. I tried to finish her with a kick but she caught it and about damn near ripped off my foot. I didn't know a chick could be so _strong_. Of course, then again, she does have one of the most famous vendettas against the IMC."

That was true. Rumors were that her family had been ousted from a wealthy vineyard when the IMC came back from the core systems and claimed the planet sectors they had originally explored. They called it imminent domain. The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation was the first to break into the habitable planets known as the Frontier. However, after exploration lost its new luster, the corporation returned back to the core systems of Earth, Mars, Venus, and Titan to execute a profit. Eventually, news came around that farmers and miners out on the Frontier were making triple the profit margins the IMC was making. The corporation came back and claimed the Frontier as theirs since they legally owned the right to the land by exploration. Many of these Frontier pioneers were former workers of the IMC and felt cheated and formed the Militia. This all ties to Sarah because supposedly her father was a prominent, retired IMC general who had commanded in Indonesia and the first Titan War. He refused the IMC's imminent domain, but also reacted _violently_ to the demands of the corporation. The IMC may have been willing to broker a truce with a former general but open insurrection is unacceptable anywhere. A peacekeeping unit was dispatched immediately, the vineyard was put to the torch and so was the family inside, Sarah being the only survivor being she was away at IMC officer's training school. The other vine barons and farmers in the area immediately surrendered their land to the IMC and no complaints were heard again. Except for Sarah, who dropped out immediately and signed up with the Militia.

As the sounds of war initiated outside, I began to think of the situation of Sarah and the Militia. Yes, the IMC did come out of nowhere and claim lands they had paid to explore. The pioneers should have been upset to lose land they had worked and cultivated, but to raise a military coupe? Every pioneer that relinquished their land were paid in full price for the worth of their land and necessary assets. Those who did not, often met the fate of Sarah's kin. But that was the way of the universe. But was the Militia becoming the stronger force?

Through the walls we could hear the familiar sounds of Titan weaponry. That was a good sign that Spyglass was not going to bomb the old, coal refinery Maverick and I found ourselves in.

"You know," Maverick said, "Sarah is not the only one with a grudge. My family-" He shut his eyes tightly. After a moment he continued, "-my family was murdered by pirates with the Militia insignia on their ship. I saw my sister gunned down right in front of me. She took the bullets and died to save me. I can't even remember how old I was, but I was young."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay Krout. The only difference actually between you and I is that I am not a volunteer. I was _conscripted_ into pilot school. It was that or serve years in prison. We'll find out in a few minutes if that was the right choice or not."

After that, we did not talk at all. A half hour seemed an eternity. If the Militia repelled the attack we had no idea what our fate would be. Even if the IMC won the day, it would just take one grunt to come in the door with an LMG Spitfire and spray the room with bullets and then walk out the door again in less then thirty seconds. I stared at the wall and tried to unsuccessfully picture Maverick's face when he was younger. Before the scars, when he was still Travis Mercury. A lot of times I wanted to hit the foul mouth kid but he had come back to try and save my life. To rescue a man he had met not even a day ago from death. His standoffish attitude and cocky smirk actually meant nothing when this broken IMC pilot next to me put his hands on a gun and a mind on a mission. He was crazy, but he was brave. I had not thanked him.

The door opened. One pair of boots walked across the floor. I looked up and only saw the silhouette of a soldier. The light behind was very bright. A gun in hand, the end also at hand. He crossed his arms and said, "Oy, look at these two pitiful, cold crows."


	9. Chapter 9

IMC Chapter 9

The light revealed with one more step Commander Blisk. The trademark smirk on his face. Two Spectres entered behind him and he ordered they cut us loose from our handcuffs. The robot soldiers did not have cutting torches so they just used their hands to snap the metal. The only downside was that it nearly jerked by shoulder out of its socket. I lifted Maverick up onto my shoulder. His ankle had swollen significantly and Blisk could even see the swelling through two pairs of pants.

"Looks like you took a lick on the leg, eh? We'll be getting you crows on a boat back up to the stratosphere." Blisk looked around the room, as if a detective looking for clues. "Graves was in here was he?"

"Affirmative, sir," I replied a little too readily.

He nodded. "I managed to reach him on the IMC officer link right before we finally stormed the place. He is more up to his misinformation than ever. Trying to lead everyone around by the nose. But his dropships didn't come so he had to have escaped underground." He punched his open palm, "doesn't matter, I am going in after him right through hell if I have to follow."

A robotic voice blared into the air as the unmistakable voice of Vice Admiral Spyglass. "Commander Blisk, come in."

He put his hand on his ear but let his two, little pet crows listen to the conversation. "This is Blisk, go ahead, sir."

"Route your dropship immediately back to the IMS Havoc. New developments in the siege of Waystation Sandtrap requires your needed presence."

"Sir! I almost have Graves. He is right here in my hands."

"Irrelevant to the larger purpose of this conflict Commander Blisk. Insubordination with Senior-IMC officers will not be tolerated. Be on the bridge of the IMS Havoc in thirty minutes. Spyglass out."

And that was that. I could almost hear Blisk's teeth grinding together. He begrudgingly replied the affirmative into the comm. Jerking his hand away, his cuss word echoed into the damp, soggy air. Maverick and I spared glances at each other. Both of us hoped the rage would not pour onto the two closest to him.

"This is the reason we came to this planet . . ." Blisk mumbled as his gloves curled tighter into themselves. He whirled around on his boot and said, "Come on crows! You are coming with me."

Maverick and I boarded the medical evac goblin. Blisk boarded his personal goblin with his entourage of Spectres and bodyguards and asked if I wanted to join him. I really didn't feel like being in that awkward space of a brooding Commander Blisk so I opted to remain with my companion. He shrugged amidst the icy graveyard of militia grunts and titans, "suit yourself," he said.

Indeed it had been intense engagement Maverick and I had missed. Many of the casualties in the snow had the green and orange color of the Militia. Pilots had dropped in with Blisk on this raid but only one functioning IMC titan guided by a pilot remained. Sure enough it was the black, unarmed titan piloted by the spirited, young Russian I had met a couple days ago. The leg gyros hobbled quite a bit and the armor seemed peppered by small arms fire and rocket blasts. Yet, the titan with IVAN painted over the top was the last one standing. I tried to see if the two wingmen would be around to talk but I could not see them as IMC Spectres perused the battlefield for Militia survivors.

On the medical goblin, Maverick had to mostly wait for his leg to be treated due to the large amount of Militia Grunts more severely wounded. IMC surgeons bounced back and forth checking vitals and setting up the order of surgeries to come aboard the IMS Havoc.

"Why in the hell is she checking out all the Militia garbage first?" Maverick mumbled to me but said it as the blood-covered surgeon was within hearing distance.

"You are not critically wounded. It seems the IMC did not drop many grunts here, I don't see any grey coated soldiers wounded. The attack must have been primarily Spectres and pilots." I said to him.

"No shit, genius." Boy, Maverick was still lovable even when in pain. "Going in with Spectres as the spear point is going to be the standard operating procedure for the IMC until reinforcements arrive from the core systems."

"Maverick, do you ever get the feeling like there won't be reinforcements? That we have to pull ourselves out of this mess?"

"I get that feeling all the freaking time. We got years before the help arrives and most likely none of us will live to see those days. I just care about taking down some Militia basterds with me."

I thought Maverick had missed my main question but then he added more as our medical goblin shuttered into lock with the IMS Havoc, "now that you mention it Krout, I sometimes wonder if we really have been forgotten on the wrong side of the Frontier."

He looked away, obviously uncomfortable talking about this. I was glad that he didn't pursue it either because I didn't want to continue the dialogue either. Yet the thought still pervaded and jabbed at the dark spots in my mind that were tender, and never really examined.

IMC medical personnel gave me pain pills for my head trauma acquired during my capture and they gave Maverick a cast and a set of crutches. We found all the other crows waiting for us in Room 237. I was glad to see that they had all survived their missions, even Nina.

"Nice job flushing out the marlin," Dragon said as she slapped me on the back. "The only problem is you didn't bring him back into the boat. I'm sorely disappointed boys."

"An entire Militia battalion versus two lightly armed pilots? C'mon Dragon, quit busting our balls," Maverick shot back.

"I think she's being sarcastic Maverick. We didn't grab Marcus Graves this time but we are hot on his trail and it's only a matter of time 'fore he hits a corner," said Blackbeard as he sipped a cup of coffee."

"That might not be the case though," I said and everyone looked at me. "When Blisk got us out of the interrogation room, Vice Admiral Spyglass ordered him to the Sandtrap siege."

Everyone was so surprised that even Nina Reynoso, my former squadron commander narrowed her eyes in consternation. "Why . . .?" tumbled from her lips.

A beep came from the main screen and Nina Reynoso snapped from her pondering and pressed the receive button. An encrypted message sang in the cabin. One could not tell that it was a personal message from Commander Blisk because of the sound scrambling. Instead, it was a monotone hacking akin to my Sid OS voice in my titan if it was dying from strep throat.

" _All unwounded crows report to Goblin G-Train for skip to flagship IMS Colossus. Reynoso receives further instructions_."

We didn't say much as we packed up our belongings into our kit bags and weapon cases. Maverick tried to whip out a knife to cut off his cast but Reynoso made him stand down. Orders were orders. I almost wanted to say I was wounded as well so that I wouldn't have to leave Travis Mercury alone.

"Fine," he said as he shoved the knife back into its sheath. "You guys go get Sandtrap back. I'm going to find Graves and bring him back. Dead or alive."

His eyes were cold and deadly. I had no reason to doubt that he wouldn't burn down the whole planet to get his goal. Yet it gave me chills to think of Maverick holding a smoking gun and seeing Grave's blood pooling around his body.

Mk. III Automated Loader robots were waiting outside our door. They would carry our heavier pilots' ordinances. Before I walked out the door, Maverick called to me. He was sitting on his bunk in the dark like when I first met him but this time he reached out his hand. I pulled him up and he winced at the pain in his ankle but we were close together.

"It was good to meet you Krout. You're a square but you watched my back out there. Come back alive and help me snag Graves will ya? It's about time we end this fuckin' war."

"Alright, Maverick."

"Just remember, _videmus mortuis_."

" _We see the dead_ "

"We name the dead, 1st Lieutenant Kax Autto."

"Chief Master Sergeant Travis Mercury," I said. I gave him a tight hug and spun around to leave the room. I did not dare look back. He was the only person I could really call a friend. He was someone I had fought with and bled for. I know I have not known him for very long but that invisible ceremony left a deep mark on me. Calling ourselves dead may have been morbid but it suited pilots like us. Life was fast and fleeting. Death was just as quick. We were soldiers in the dark heart of winter and when we are needed most for this brave, new Frontier.

The return to the IMS Colossus was a sour blessing. After the destruction of the IMS Sentinel, the 40th Squadron had moved to the new flagship. It was here that I drank with the Englishman, James Canelo; the beautiful Jamaican, Kinkaid Marsela; and my 2nd Lieutenant Alice Reins. Good times mixed with shattered spirits. We name the dead.

Reynoso led us to another unknown part of the ship to me. We crows had a knack for nesting in the most obscure, forgotten roosts. We liked it that way. We cleaned out the dust and grime of space travel to lay our belongings beneath our bunks. The others asked if I would accompany them to the bar but I declined to lie down. The headache was back with a vengeance and I began to regret not going when I laid my head on the pillow. The pain surged even worse when I closed my eyes. I was just about to give up and look for the alcoholic cure when I somehow fell asleep.

I could feel my body writhe in the contorted sheets of my bunk. I was standing at the edge of that terrible vertigo between reality and the darkness between the stars. As the feeling of my body let go I felt it crimp into the fetal position of a child. I tumbled away and into the world psychologists' wonder about. I zoomed past the nightly lights and into the metal womb of a Goblin dropship.

 _No, not again!—_

The jump into the combat zone made the entire Goblin shudder. The ship banked and I looked over my shoulder to see out the side-window. The sun gleamed off massive dome of the Hammonds Robotics Facility. Around the majestic complex of metal and windows were the ravages of war. Drop-pods slammed into the courtyard like a lightning strike and tracers danced around the bronze, contemporary statue of an Atlas titan. The green light came on and all pilots stood up from our seats. The ramp would drop right in front of my feet and I would be the first one to hit the ground. Right after me would be Alice Reins.

Harris shuffled his feet next to me and shook his trigger hand as if to keep it warmed up. I pulled back the action on my G2A4 Rifle and let out a deep sigh. Before every jump, my heart thudded against my chest like a hundred titanfalls. The Goblin dropship began to level and shook once more. In the jumble, I felt Alice pretend to fall forward and she kissed the back of my shoulder plate.

I reached back and with our bodies close we hid the warm caress of our gloves intertwining. A rifle in my right hand and a Spitfire LMG in Alice's right. We held death in one hand, and love in the other. In this dream, I swore I could see tears coming from her brown eyes.

Only a few days ago we made love beneath the city lights of Haven. She had begged me to leave with her, to leave this terrible war. Not to defect and fight for the Militia, but to leave altogether. Except the honor of fighting for the company that pays me won the argument. I finally agreed that we would fight in one more combat mission and then both Alice and I would resign from being titan pilots in the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation.

Vice Admiral Spyglass walked down the middle of the cabin between the pilots. He turned to face us. It was so strange to actually be taking orders from an Artificial Intelligence. Vice Admiral Marcus Graves had disappeared after the destruction of Demeter but we all had our suspicions as to where he went. Spyglass turned and faced us.

" _The Militia are attempting to hack into the Spectre production lines at this facility. It is imperative that we prevent this maneuver and preserve our ability to manufacture Spectres here. Pilots, you are to recover the uplinks to the production lines and re-establish our control over the Spectre units stored here. Commander Blisk will be handling Titan production. Good luck pilots."_

Spyglass reached up and pulled the lever to drop the ramp. The pressure sucked out of the hull and beckoned us into the fray of combat. Spectres were climbing like black ants all over a Militia Atlas Titan. The Atlas clawed and writhed until it succumbed and fell to the ground. I didn't feel sorry for what those machines would do to that Militia pilot inside.

Spyglass raised his robotic fist and beckoned us to begin. I glanced over at Harris and he nodded back at me. We lowered our shoulders and charged into that leap of faith out of the back of the Goblin.

I feel there is not a completely accurate description of a pilot jump into a combat zone. The IMC never hires poets to tell our story but if I had to try and put it to words I have to say it is freedom. When pilots leave the metal confines of a dropship it is like unfurling a raptor's talons. We soar as the most dangerous human beings in the Frontier. Through the smoke and screeching static of war we land in hostile territory, absolutely scared out of our wits, and absolutely in our element. The mindsets of aggression and peace are opposites but they are never more one than when we step into the wild Frontier.

We hit the grass and ran forward. Our unit leader, Captain Hunter Jacobson, was already on the ground and stood in front of the Militia Titan swarmed with Spectres. Amid the screams of a Militia Pilot being torn limb from limb, Captain Jacobson issued our orders.

"The 211st Squadron has managed to lose all the hardpoints. We are taking them back. Reins, you and I are heading right in to take back that courtyard. Harris, Vixez, and Bristian, Hardpoint Alpha is in this building right behind me."

Captain Jacobson pointed at the building as the screaming stopped and it was just the sounds of bone breaking in the cockpit filled with Spectres.

"Establish an uplink and then defend that Hardpoint until I give you further orders. The Militia has commandeered Spectre production so you are going to have to fight some off to get there. But once you establish that link, the production lines should fight for us again. Olander, you and Autto get up on the roof and provide sniper support. Now let's move!"

I turned around and Alice lifted her Spitfire LMG to face the painfully blue sky. The Spitfire was no toy gun. It was by far the heaviest of pilot primary weapons with rock-solid power and a seemingly endless magazine. Yet, Alice's upper body strength wielded with gun the ease of a painter and a brush. I saw her strong naked shoulders and felt the solid nature of her arms back in the dark hotel room of Haven. She reached out and touched my ribs and brought me out of heaven and back to the hell of the Corporate Robotics Facility.

"Be careful out there Alice."

"Of course, you too Kax," she winked at me, and then ran to catch up with Captain Jacobson. I watched her perfect body and lovely face run into the ugly face of combat. A suffocating cinch cord tightened in my chest. I tried to push out those eternal feelings. An IMC pilot had to hold back his emotions to stay alive in this cannibalistic war. This contest of natural selection on the Frontier was no place for caring affirmations. Alice and I killed to eradicate our humanity, and we desperately loved in the fires of our bodies to claim it back. But I thought I held a piece of my soul back from Alice from the fear of losing her. I wonder if she did that—because I know now that I held nothing—nothing, back from her.

The fighting continued to roar in the courtyard. The comms were littered with orders, cries for help, and demands for reinforcements. IMC grunts were falling back as their supply of Spectres dwindled. Apparently, the 211st Squadron didn't get a good enough ra-ra speech from Vice Admiral Spyglass and were already taking massive casualties. That's when I heard the barking of Alice's Spitfire. Only a few seconds later I heard grunts ordering to move forward, to take a flank, to kick some ass. A gifted pilot like Alice could turn the tide with the comforting feeling of the enemy being pinned down by a hail of bullets.

Meanwhile, I had to worry about myself. Even though a bright, happy sun shined down on us snipers (yes, because I carried a G2A4, I was often considered a sniper. Captain Jacobson was new since our former captain, Whitney Koors, was killed ejecting out of her titan) had a difficult time scanning for targets. I was not familiar with the Hammond Robotics Facility so I had to learn as I went. We used our jumpkits to access the first roof. Olander shouldered his Longbow as we made our way cautiously across the top of the access tunnel above Hardpoint Alpha until we were able to get to the second roof. Once there, we saw fire erupt from the main doors of the reception office. We looked across the courtyard to see a vicious titan fight at the reception desk. Rockets and arc cannon shots were dueling alongside two Ogre titans wrestling for a fatal grab.

"Man, forget that, I ain't bringing my titan in there. It's got nuclear eject. It'll toast everyone, including me in there."

I aimed down my HCOG sights and picked off two headshots on grunts in the courtyard. I emptied the rest of my extended magazine into two Militia Spectres. I hated how my rifle rounds always seemed to bounce off and spark those metal soldiers.

"Get down!" Olander shouted and a string of R-101C Carbine bullets raked around my helmet. I dove into the cover of an air conditioning unit. I saw Olander activate his radar behind cover.

"That pilot is coming hard on our left flank. I got the shot."

Olander leaned out and rested the gun on the side of the cooling unit and tracked his target until it came out in the open. He fired two quick shots and even I heard the satisfying sound of a bullet meeting brains. He turned and smiled at me before his whole upper body filled with lead and blood. I whipped around with my rifle and saw the male pilot reloading his R-97 Compact SMG. He must not have seen me. I stood up and fired two shots into his chest. He dropped to his knees. In the dream in my head, I finished him with a kick to the face.

Blisk informed me that my titan was ready. Olander saved my life twice and died the second time. Had I saved any lives like that? I said a quick prayer for him and jumped down into the ruined robotics facility. The sniper life was not my forte.

I stayed low and close to the walls. I avoided the debris where I could and kept my rifle up on my shoulder and ready. Through the walls I could hear the gunshots and explosions. Grunts cussing and dying, the too familiar sound of war on the frontier—well, war since forever. I posted up next to a doorway and raised my rifle before three Militia grunts sprinted through. They never noticed me. After they travelled down the stairs I poked my head around and proceeded deeper into the building.

The comm came to life. "Olander is down on his readings. What's your status Autto?" Captain Jacobson demanded.

"Olander is KIA and our position was compromised, sir."

"I see your location on the mini-map now. Head through the building and then you should see a long tunnel on your left. Go through there and you'll find Hardpoint Charlie."

"I'll need support sir. Can you send Reins over?"

"She and I are calling in titans to hold the courtyard. If you hadn't let Olander get killed you wouldn't have to take that Hardpoint by yourself, pilot. Jacobson out."

Unadulterated rage nearly blackened my vision. I am glad he chose to close the comm or else I would have very choice words for my commanding officer. And if I was a jealous man, (which I am not, I swear), I would think that Jacobson was spending a lot of time in combat with 2nd Lieutenant Alice Reins. I don't blame him though. She was the equivalent of a battleship on a land engagement. Her accuracy with the Spitfire LMG was vicious and the number of bullets and explosives she put into the air was relentless. But she wasn't just some large girl lugging around a machine gun with bullet belts strapped to her chest. She was still slim and fast despite all the weight she carried. She could use her jump-kit and wall-run with the best of IMC Pilots and that is saying something.

Meanwhile, I was still stuck with the problem of taking a Hardpoint without my wonderful girlfriend to watch my back. What Jacobson said about me letting Olander die really pissed me off. It made me so mad I popped up behind the desk and fired one deadly round through the helmet of a Militia grunt. He slumped down and soon his grunt squad mate noticed he was dead but she died from a high-velocity, hollow point lobotomy before she could turn around.

Any pilot worth his or her salt would hear the prolific sounds of the G2A4 Special Forces Rifle. They would be coming to hunt me soon. I just had to stay on my toes. Besides, those poor bastards defending Hardpoint Charlie might as well know I am coming for them.

I have to at least give them a sporting chance.

I surveyed the building across the street from the corner of the window. Sure enough, a tunnel ran above the street that led to Hardpoint Charlie. Titans were duking it out below and a squad of IMC grunts were moving up at an attempt to assault the tunnel. Might as well make it hard and fast. If I can punch and move quickly enough, they might not realize they are being attacked by only one pilot. Thinking you was outnumbered by enemy pilots was almost just as bad as the actual event of being outnumbered.

I linked up with the IMC grunts and shouted encouragement. "Let's get these savages!" They cheered and charged forward into Militia gunfire. As you can tell, IMC pilots are officers but we do not get very much training in rallying troops into battle. I wish I could say, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!" but I don't think any soldier would understand what a breach was.

I ran forward into the tunnel and flung an arc grenade into the other end of the tunnel. The electric blast shocked the Militia grunts and they crumpled to the floor, their bodies twitching. The single grenade would not be enough to kill any pilots nearby but it would disorient them for a few valuable seconds. I suddenly saw an exit manifold over my head and made a last minute decision to use my jumpkit to get out of the tunnel. On my left were two windows to the Hardpoint room. I used my jumpkit to run along the wall and place myself between the two windows. I stuck my dataknife into the wall to hang like a fly and looked in.

A Militia Pilot banged on his head gear and I could see the sparks from the arc grenade shimmer off his helmet. He then aimed his C.A.R. down the tunnel and held down the trigger. The bullets ripped into the advancing IMC grunts and their screams echoed with the sound of ripping flesh in the tunnel. I shouldered my G2A4 the best that I could with one arm and aimed at the Pilot's. I fired until half of my extended magazine was extinguished. Quite a few of my shots missed and shattered the glass behind him but his body slumped down to the floor already littered with casings and blood.

There were bound to be more hostiles inside. I couldn't just jump through the window and start the uplink. Someone would know that I was coming in. I fired the jumpkit on my hips and ran up the wall until gravity started to push me down the ninety degree wall. I fired my kit again and ran to the second window. I was glad to have my stealth kit equipped because more titans were pouring into the street fight below and I didn't want the defenders knowing which way I was coming from. I put the dataknife back into the wall and to hang very low to see through the top of the window. Another Militia pilot had his R-101C trained on the window as he squatted in the corner shadows. I was about to try and pull off another one armed kill when a grenade bounced off the wall and landed right next to him. I immediately pulled my face up. The blast blew the glass all over the titan fight followed by a billow of fire and smoke. My ears were ringing but I swung down into the grey. The Hardpoint area was even more of a mess and basically nothing remained of the enemy pilot. In the smoke I saw an enemy Spectre struggling to reach of its weapon. I pumped two rounds into its artificial skull and it stopped moving. An IMC pilot came out of cloak and landed next to me.

"Had to take that one, sweetie." Harris smiled his big, goofy grin at me. "I just couldn't let that sitting duck wallow there."

"Thanks for the assist anyways. I thought you were at Hardpoint Alpha?"

"I was, but it was getting terribly boring. Alice had overheard what Jacobson said to you on the comm. She got a hold of me on her private line and asked if I could come give you a hand, sweetie." Harris called everyone, except Commander Blisk, 'sweetie'.

"I'll have to thank her again later. Let's get this uplink up so we can have some Spectres on our side."

Just as we were making our way to the terminal, four Militia controlled Spectres jumped down from their assembly lines and grabbed the nearest automatic weapons. The two IMC pilots looked at each other. "First one to fire a shot—loses," Harris smiled at me. I did not want to lose a contest to Harris. I would probably have to kiss him.

I sheathed my dataknife and let out a breath as I tried to slow down my heart rate. Harris and I were surrounded by four, brand new piles of Militia Spectre trash on the floor. Harris walked over to the terminal and was plugged in his dataknife into Hardpoint Charlie.

He shook his head, "something's wrong. The frequency is getting messed up by something."

"Oh, right!" I snapped my fingers and looked at the first pilot I had shot from the window. He was sinking deeper into a pool of blood but he was reaching for his C.A.R. I took my Hammond pistol from the hip holster and fired a shot into the side of his face. The body twitched for a few moments. Harris and I watched life leave his body. Harris then looked at the terminal.

"Great! All clear!"

We held the Hardpoint until IMC grunt reinforcements arrived and they had two dozen IMC controlled Spectres standing fresh from the assembly pods. We looked out the window and the street was littered with the smoking metal corpses of titans. Otherwise, it was eerily empty. Harris and I called down both of our Stryder Titans. Mine landed first from the warp transmitter and I was already jumping into the cockpit when his hit the ground. Inside the cockpit, I double checked the armaments on my quad rocket launcher after the titanfall.

 _"I read two IMC titans to three Militia titans in this vicinity, sir."_ Sid informed me. Then he added, " _with your permission, boss, I will grind their bones to make my bread. I hate the Militia and I hate you."_

"Right on Sid. They show up—"

" _They get lit up_."

And with Harris as my wingman in a Stryder Titan that held a nasty looking plasma railgun, the Militia had their work cut out for them today.

We moved swiftly around the perimeter of the Hammond Robotics Complex and found the Militia Titans pushing into Hardpoint B. Two Militia Ogres, but they were crowded into the reception area and annihilating everything in front of them.

"Stryders don't dance well with Ogres in close quarters. And a Militia pilot in an Ogre has two goddamn left feet." Harris lamented into the comm. I shook my head in my cockpit.

"Alright, I'll draw them out and then you pick them off once their shields are down. Just like how we took Hardpoint Charlie. We clear?"

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant, but if any other titans drop in behind you I'm getting in the mix."

" _gute_ , let's bring the hurt."

I dashed around the corner and hustled through the crossfire of the courtyard. I passed the massive bronze statue of the Atlas Titan and the Ogres still did not know I was coming. At the door of the reception area, I fired two volleys of quad rockets into the Ogre on the right and then a salvo of slaved rockets into the shields of the Ogre on the left. They turned and snarled at my wimpy Stryder and fired their weapons at me. A few rounds battered my shields before I brought up the vortex shield and caught tons of ordinances. They floated in the vortex for a moment and while they reloaded I fired it back. The Ogre on the left took massive damage because it could not move out of the way. They charged forward regardless, the Militia pilots knew they had several more inches of steel protecting them and they were going to rip this annoying Stryder limb from limb. Until a railgun round slid through the cockpit of the Ogre on the left like a hot arrow through butter. It ran for a few more steps and then fell flat on its face.

I blasted the remaining Ogre but it went through the rockets like they were just bug bites. It launched a massive punch and it caught the left hand of my Stryder and completely shattered all the servos. I dashed away and had to use the left forearm to hold the quad rocket. My last volley of four rockets missed entirely and I struggled to make the machine reload my weapon with a missing piece as necessary as a hand. The Ogre took aim with its XO-16 Chaingun and peppered me with bullets. I was dashing back and forth to try and avoid the damage but very quickly my shields were down and I could hear the bullets pinging and careening off the very thin armor around my cockpit.

" _Shields are down. It is unnecessary to panic, boss. You could just die._ "

I finally reloaded my quad rocket (I still don't remember how, exactly), and began to fight back against the massive Ogre. It charged forward to finish me. I tried to bring up the vortex shield against the hail of bullets but the shattered left hand just made the bullets fly away at random. The Ogre was coming for blood but Harris in his Stryder was quicker. Another plasma railgun round sheared clear through the knee joint of the Militia Ogre and it stumbled. The Pilot inside was still trying to kill me when a metal hand reached through the back of the Ogre and wrapped around her. The Ogre fell down and dropped its chaingun and was posted up on its hands and knees. Harris looked at the pilot squirming in his Stryder's god-grip. Without warning he mashed the pilot into the hull of the Ogre.

 _"Hostile titanfall detected, boss!"_ Sid exclaimed in my ear and I dashed out of the way. Harris and I stood back to back and counted four new domeshields around us. Three of them were Militia and one was the automated Atlas titan (which belonged to Jacobson) that would go on to end Harris that day. Our two Stryders and the Atlas faced off against two more Stryders and another Atlas. Even match, but most of my armor had been obliterated during the battle and my robotic left hand dangled at the end of the arm.

"Shall we have this dance Autto?" Harris cooed over the comm.

I re-gripped the controls of the titan.

Ogre and Atlas fighting was like a boxing match. Brutal hit for vicious jab. Stryder fighting was just the opposite. It was a deadly juke and dive, a constant vie and feign to find the enemy's weakness and could be over with just a few precise shots. Jacobson tangled with the Atlas while Harris and I tangled with the Stryders. We tumbled down into the basements of the complex and out into the open trees. Using cover, breaking cover to fire, dashing forward to draw them or throw a quick punch is what all four pilots did. I even once tried to use my left arm as a pike to stick the Militia Stryder' cockpit but it batted it away like it was nothing so I had to dash back behind a boulder for cover. I was praying the shields would recharge before the enemy came for me when I heard a large thump on the top of my cockpit. That was just what I needed, an enemy pilot going for the rodeo.

"Kax, Titan Friendly on board. Get that shield up before we take this guy down."

2nd Lieutenant Alice Reins. Titan Friendly as her call sign. The shields shimmied up again and I dashed back out. The enemy Stryder did not expect such a vengeance of rockets and the whopping grenades from a mag launcher to be thundering down on it. I let it have everything I had, emptying my slaved rocket salvos and all the rockets in the clip. Right when I clicked empty I saw again the bravest thing I have ever seen. Alice Reins had cloaked and used her jumpkit to launch off and land on the enemy Stryder. It was stumbling in smoke and fire but it was still operational. Alice ripped off the top plate of the Stryder that led to the internal systems. Out came the Spitfire LMG and it sounded like a chainsaw began to rip right into the metal titan.

"It's going into ejection sequence, be there to catch me, love." Alice said to me and sure enough the Stryder detonated and two pilots shot into the blue sky. But that is when I saw the other enemy Stryder raise its XO-16 Chaingun to the clouds.

My blood ran cold.

I sprinted forward as hard as the damaged servos of my robotic legs could carry me. "Cloak now, Alice! You're being targeted!"

"I can't, I don't have any battery left! Oh God, Kax!"

The Stryder pulled down the trigger but I had no ammunition left. I still pushed my titan and started my big no-no's of IMC Pilot Protocols.

I tackled an enemy Titan.

A dash charge knocked the enemy titan clear off its feet and we both tumbled into trees and snapped their stalks like they were grass. My cockpit caved in and I held up my hands to protect my face in a futile human reaction. The electronic vision for my cockpit shorted out and I was dipped into a black coffin as the crashing of metal screeched into my ears. Oil and hydraulic fluid spilled inside and drenched my IMC pilot uniform with flames licking their chops outside the hull.

The dizzying somersaults finally ended and I opened my eyes. Sparks and shorted out display panels crackled in front of me. The controls were useless as I tried to shift the arms and legs. I had no way to orientate where I was facing. If my cockpit faced the ground I was absolutely stuck until I was either freed by an IMC Space Construction crew using fire extinguishers and cutting torches, or I was crushed by a Militia Titan's foot.

All the spit was dried from my mouth. I tried to swallow but I was finally able to ask, "Alice? Alice, are you there?"

Silence. I could feel my heart stopping. I had wanted one more combat mission; I was to be the IMC's winter soldier. . .

"Kax! Kax you crazy asshole, are you okay?"

It was the most beautiful words I had ever heard.

"Yes, Alice, I'm okay. Are you alright?"

"I made it. The chaingun never zeroed in on me. I saw you tackle him. You need to be careful. That Militia Stryder is getting up now."

I pressed the cockpit door button and the doors flinched but an error sound blared in protest. "I might be stuck, Alice."

As my heart rate throttled back into overdrive, Alice said into the comm. "Harris, Kax's Stryder is down. Do everything you can to hold that Militia savage off him."

"Copy that—Autto, you alright?"

"I'm alright for now but I need your help."

"Man, this guy is good with his chaingun. He isn't missing me at all. I'll get him, hold on."

In the background of Harris' transmission I could hear the rack of depleting shields and wild bullets.

I kept pressing the button to open the cockpit but still received the error noise. Something must have been obstructing it.

I flexed my abs and lifted my leg against the tight confines of the cockpit and kicked the door as hard as I could from the short distance. It budged. I kept kicking as hard as I could. The sound of battle was coming closer, could Harris hold that Stryder off such an easy target?

The door opened and my foot launched out into the air. Holding the cockpit door with the backdrop of a perfect, blue sky was Alice.

She reached down and pulled me out of the Stryder Titan. I grabbed my rifle and then I grabbed her hand. We jumped down off the smoldering pile of steel. I hit my knees and pulled her down below cover. I grabbed her helmet and unstrapped it.

"Kax—what are you doing?"

I put her helmet on the grass and pulled off my helmet. With my own unaided eyes I gazed upon the loveliest face I had ever seen. A flash of black came across her head in my dream but then Alice's perfect blonde hair laid over her ears and face. She brushed away the grime and sweat of combat and her brown eyes laid deep into me. My glove touched her smooth cheek and my trigger finger was uncovered and that feeling contrasted the death of a trigger to the life of my love. I pulled her in and we kissed as battle raged and people died on this wild, boundless, free frontier. Somethings and some feelings transcend long after our bodies have died and rotted. This was one of those moments.

But the dream—could I already taste the winds of winter on her lips? That moment was as true as the day I was born but something, some malicious uncertainty chuckled in the back of my mind. Again that flash of black across Alice's hair froze the blood in my heart.

 _Please God, let me wake up. Not again._

We put our helmets back on and peeped over the dead Stryder titan. Harris ejected from his Titan but the Militia titan had to reload its chaingun. By the time it looked back up at the sky, Harris was well out of danger. He had probably used his stim pack to dive back into the Hammond Robotics Corporate Facility. The Militia Titan was badly damaged; fire and smoke billowed from its damaged servos. Harris had lost the fight but he didn't go down easily. It turned back to my down Stryder. Alice and I ducked back down to make a quick plan.

"Both of us are going to cloak. Don't use your jumpkit, it'll see the flare. I have a stealth kit and I'm going to use the tree to get on top of him. Just get some distance in case anything goes wrong."

She nodded and disappeared into the camouflage of the forest. The Stryder titan's footfalls thundered closer but I wanted to wait until it was very close. If this pilot was good, he or she could still see my stealth jumpkit and pick me out of the sky with that capable chaingun. At the last minute I activated my cloak and launched out of cover. I hit the tree and bounced onto the flaming Stryder. I landed on the hull and the stealth kit would not alert the pilot inside of my invasion until I pulled the cap off. The flames were scalding all around me and I pulled the cap with all my might and threw it aside. I stuck the barrel of my G2A4 down into the internal systems and fired as fast as I could pull the trigger. I then heard the ominous sound of a titan going into a critical nuclear state.

"Alice, it's a nuke! Get out of here!"

"Shit! I'm too close—"

"Run!"

"—I love you, Kax," it sounded like she was crying and not running.

" _NO!"_

Into the sky I went and the earth became a blazing fireball.

I came down and stuck my dataknife into the bark of a tree. I scanned the scorched earth. Ashes fluttered down into the blackened grass. I suddenly saw him. He moved cautiously through the wreckage his titan had made.

Silence entombed my soul and my landing.

I disarmed him from behind and threw his Smart Pistol on the ground. He threw an elbow but I ducked to deliver a punch into his ribs. He grunted and bent over and I lifted my knee into his face plate. I threw another punch but he recovered quicker than I anticipated and blocked the cross to push me in the chest plate. With distance now between us, the Militia pilot delivered a solid boot to my chest. My feet left the ground and I landed on my back. The ashes of everything I loved billowed into my defeated nostrils. His knee came hard into my solar plexus and the air ejected out of my lungs. At the last second I saw the glint of a knife. I reached for it in my confusion and grabbed the wrist. The knife had sliced open my jacket and blood was pouring down into my armpit but I did not feel it. The knife was inching closer, nearly to my collar bone. I was to die in this moment along with Alice and the IMC.

 _But then how am I dreaming this?_

I pulled his knee away from my chest and the knife went into the ashes next to my neck. He pulled it up to try and stab me again but I pushed with my legs to buck him and rolled him on his back. I pinned the knife down and had my knee on his other arm. He tried to desperately buck me off as well but I managed to wrest the knife from his grip. I then began to do what he was to do to me. All this happened in silence. I could feel my lips moving from deep down that I could not hear. I could feel my lips simultaneously moving that fateful day and in the confines of my bed. The knife came closer and closer and the Militia pilot whimpered until the sharp steel bit into his chest. His mouth opened as my blade pushed between his ribs and into the heart. His last breaths coughed out and he shook horribly. I pushed until the handle of the knife met his skin. The finger that touched the one I loved soaked in the blood of the one who killed her. I kept it there until the Militia pilot died and no longer moved.

I sat down next to the corpse. The eyes stared up into forever. I buried my face full of tears and sweat into my hands as the sounds of reality and battle shimmered in the distance. I did not know the last words that said to that pilot. I would soon know.

Commander Blisk alerted all IMC Pilots that the battle had been lost and that the facility was to be evacuated immediately. Dropships were coming. I picked up my rifle and ran to the rendezvous point. Hardly anyone was left. I stepped onto the goblin with hardly any incoming fire to send us away. How did we lose then?

I looked around the cabin and only saw two 211st Squadron pilots who managed to survive from the first wave. One was wounded badly in the pelvis and the other was trying to tend to him and yell for the pilot to take off. I sat in a daze. I had just seen half of Harris' body lying in the street. The 40mm cannon crater just below where his legs would have been. I did not see Jacobson, Bristian, or Vixen. I would find out later they were KIA as well.

The last survivor of the IMC's 40th Pilot Squadron opened his eyes. I then returned back to the bunk on the IMS Colossus. I rolled over and saw two members of the crows staring gravely at me. They looked as if I was a corpse in their cabin. The two were Dragon and Samurai.

"Krout, are you okay?"

"Uh, yes, I was just sleeping is all."

Dragon looked nervously over to Samurai. Samurai bit his lip and then said, "I don't know man. But you were speaking German in your sleep."


	10. Chapter 10

IMC Chapter 10

The next day, Sergeant Reynoso marched into the crow's roost with her usual air of military certainty. I was staying in the corner of shadows, much like Travis Mercury when I met him, sipping my coffee quietly. I did not want any attention since I woke up from my dream.

Reynoso tossed a blueprint map onto the table and ordered everyone to gather around. That included me as well. It was the map of an IMC fuel refinery. The novice I was at observing blueprints, even I could notice that there were no defensive structures around this refinery.

"This is the Sandtrap Refinery that is currently under siege by the 1st Militia Fleet. Part of being on the defensive is sitting on our resources. But if we lose this refinery, there will be hell to pay. It could severely limit our own fleet movements in the Yuma Sector."

"Sergeant, how come we pulled off the snow planet? We almost had Graves in our hands," Samurai said as he leaned on the table. This question that was irrelevant to our mission brought out an absolute fury from the leader of the crows. Reynoso slapped her hand so hard on the table the rest of us backed away a single step.

"Goddamnit! Not another question out of you, Samurai. If anyone else asks about Unon II, I will personally ruin your fucking day. Is that clear, pilots?"

We nodded gravely. She let out a sigh and went back to the blueprint map. "As you can see, there are no defenses or walls on this map but this is an original blueprint. Since then, the IMC has heavily fortified the station with walls all around the perimeter and heavy turrets, here and here." She pointed at two opposite corners around the outside of the refinery.

"The good news is that the walls were designed to prevent hostile titanfalls. They are close enough to the main refinery that ships have a difficult time dropping a titan inside the perimeter."

"Why not just drop the titan on the wall? Crush the wall and make a hole." Blackbeard grunted.

"The walls are high enough a titan cannot jump over it from the outside but not tall enough to be weak. They are thin in a sense that if a titan were to land on the wall it would probably in all likelihood tumble and shatter the incoming titan. So all you would have is a ruined bomb and a wall still standing in the sand."

Blackbeard nodded and let Reynoso continue again.

"The bad news is that the Militia has Sandtrap completely surrounded. Nothing has come out or went in for weeks. The soldiers holding the garrison must be running low on food and ammunition by this point. We have received reports saying there has been atmosphere shelling every day and infantry assaults sporadically. The Militia almost got in too with a covert team trying to enter through the pipelines. But a grunt named Hadley heard the footsteps in the pipe and opened up the fuel lines. No movement has been reported in the lines since."

"Is that how we are going to break the blockade, by sneaking in?" Dragon rubbed her chin with narrow eyes.

"No. This ship, the IMS Colossus, is not the flagship of the IMC for no reason. We are going to tear and burn a hole right through the siege. We have fifty ships next to us and we are going to drop right here." Reynoso then pointed to the west side of the Sandtrap refinery.

"Militia forces are garrisoned at these outlier buildings. We can count on pilots and titans as our opposition, as well a battalion of grunts. We are going to drop full force inside our titans. If we can overwhelm them in the beginning they may give up right away if our star cruisers can shut down their reinforcements. If not, we root them out. You can see there are multiple tunnels here in open space. A lot of tunnels with close quarters combat will happen beneath the sand. Samurai, your shotgun is going to be needed down there, along with you Blackbeard."

Both of the men nodded. They were thick and strong looking. I am sure they were more than willing to flex their massive shoulder muscles down in the tunnels against Militia grunts and pilots. When I did not hear my name for that section, I knew where I would be assigned.

"Since Travis is not going to be down there with you gentlemen, I will be accompanying you. That leaves you Krout, and Dragon. You are going to be topside in the sand and holding back any Militia counter attacks from these buildings here. Be conservative with your ammunition. If we fail and get pushed back into the Sandtrap Refinery, we have no idea when the next supply drop will be. But like I said, it is paramount that we do not lose this station. An IMC garrison on BFE doesn't matter, but Sandtrap definitely does. Any questions?"

Blackbeard raised his hand. It seemed odd to see a gruff looking soldier make such an action. Reynoso nodded at him.

"As long as I have been in the crows, we have never been included in any main assaults or defensive tactics as this one is. What has changed our combat description?"

"A whole fucking war," Reynoso shot back. She seemed to be in a particularly foul mood today. "We are a part of the last human pilots, Blackbeard. Commander Blisk wants this done right so he is sending us in. We are his to dispose of," and with that, Sergeant Reynoso turned around and left the crow's roost, leaving the blueprints of Sandtrap on the table.

I glanced over to the two scolded men, Samurai and Blackbeard. Blackbeard shook his head with a _tsk-tsk_ and then said, "my God. I cannot _believe_ how attractive that woman is when she is angry."

"C'mon Blackbeard, let's go have us more brews before we got to be sober for battle in—," Samurai held up his wristwatch. "Three hours, we got to make these count if we are going to die in some stupid, sand tunnel. Are you coming along Dragon? Krout?"

Dragon shook her head, "I'm fine, I'm going to look some more at these blueprints." For some reason, I suddenly didn't want to go drinking. An amazing development considering the brutal dream I had the night before. Samurai still regarded me as strange since he heard me speaking German in my sleep. I told them that I would be staying to rest some more.

"Aye, I bet you need to practice your German anyways, Krout," Blackbeard grinned through his mass of black, facial hair. The two men left and only Dragon and I were in the roost. She sighed once the door closed. "Those boys are going to drink right up until the drop second, I swear." Then she looked at me. "When we first met on the IMS Havoc, you smelled a lot like booze. Now, I haven't seen you look at the stuff."

I never realized that my drinking was so apparent. I remember being thankful that my Spectre security detail didn't have nostrils so they couldn't smell the whiskey on my breath. Always need to follow IMC Pilot Protocol. But it was interesting that Dragon had noticed.

"I can't really explain it Dragon. It's not that I've given it up, I just don't feel like getting hammered."

"Call me Jennina, please. Since we are going to be fighting together, we might as well get to know each other," she smiled. A glitter of softness fluttered in her blue eyes. A feeling like a punch in the gut told me that I may not be talking to a hardened killer but a woman at this very moment. "I don't blame you for not drinking. I try to avoid it most of the time because it reminds me of the time before this war, when I would drink with my squad mates. We would go round after round after burning down some Militia garrison. It was all very easy back then."

Jennina lowered her face and grimaced. I imagine that it must have been very difficult for her to open up like that. Women pilots in the IMC had to keep up with the men. That means they had to trade in their high-heels for combat boots and emotions for aggression. Yet, I couldn't believe that she had described my feelings so precisely in detail.

"I remember doing the same thing. I remember my friends. I remember their faces and their jokes. Our confidence. I even named the Spectres in my bodyguard detail after my friends, Jimbo, Harrison, and Gracie. They were all killed in combat but I named robots after them."

"I hated having those stupid robots around all the time. They are so noisy. But I am sorry for your loss. The 40th Squadron was in plenty of tough battles."

I sat down on the bunk and leaned on my knees. The bruises and aches and pains were only slowly healing in my body. "Yeah, the 40th, was in quite a bit. But in most of the battles we lost."

Jennina stepped forward and squatted in front of me. "Don't be saying things like that. They'll only tear you down. We can still pull out this war." She reached out and took my hand. "Besides, the Militia isn't near as clever as they think they are."

This was the very first time I had held a woman's hand since Alice. Her touch was warm, and deadly soft. That must have been why they called her Dragon because her body temperature was very hot. Her features made her a respectable woman but she was not exactly beautiful. At first, I wanted to jerk my hand away, to salvage my dedication to Alice. But the warmth sailed down my arm and into my heart where it knocked on my ribs, only seconds from titanfall. I held her hand tight.

I am the last marooned sailor in a drowned world.

And there could be a mirage of a boat on the horizon.

Jennina smiled. "I am curious as to what you were dreaming last night. I had no idea that you actually spoke that language."

I looked down. My thumb was caressing her knuckles without my permission. "I have not spoken like that in years. Not since I left Earth to travel to the Frontier."

"You came from Earth too? You are full of uncharted mysteries, Krout."

"Call me Kax. Where are you from?"

"I'm actually not from Earth; I was born on the Frontier in Angel City. When we tried to get Barker, it was fun having home field advantage."

"I'm sure not many Militia pilots were happy about that."

"The ones that met me weren't. But my family wasn't exactly ecstatic about me joining the IMC. Plenty of other kids in my neighborhood disappeared and we were all pretty sure they enlisted in the Militia. I think my parents were more sympathetic to them than to me joining up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"You don't talk very much. . . What did you dream about?"

"Last night?"

She nodded. My gaze drifted down again to the hand I was holding. Relentless ambivalence pulled me to shreds. My love for Alice screeched at the thought of betrayal. It made my skin crawl back into itself until I was nothing but a black hole in space. Yet, with the same ferocity was my vitality. It grabbed for life and a new beginning to shed the heavy cloak of despair. Perhaps then I could find a purpose after this miserable war. I took a deep breath and told Jennina about the disaster at Corporate—and how I lost Alice.

A tiny tremor unlocked inside, like the snap release of a button. Telling her made it more real than ever before. Jennina telling me she was sorry and that Alice must have been a lovely woman made the death even more real. Alice's death wasn't something I could avoid any longer; as much as I had tried to stifle the pain and pass it away as something trivial. From naming robots to berating memories of friends, the time had finally come.

I am a forest fire in a blizzard. I am an indecisive man at the edge of a cliff. When I kissed Jennina, I could feel the snowflakes of winter upon my face. Cold on my lips, and then blistering heat. In that blaze of trees and ravaged titans was a dragon, full of fury and life. She pushed into me until I was flat on my back. I pulled her hair to expose her neck and kiss the delicate skin. She moaned and slid her hand up from the bottom of my shirt. I went back to kissing her lips and we pressed tighter and tighter together until I could not tell where the ice ended, and the fire began.

I drew my fingers through the cooling sweat on her back. I traced the reason she was nicknamed Dragon. On her skin was the largest tattoo I had ever seen. A dragon's back obscured most of her back in scales and ink. The wings curved up into her shoulders and arms. The dragon was scarred from bullet wounds and long slashes that were not manifested by the artist's tattoo gun. The healed bumps on her skin were real when my fingertips caressed over them.

"Your hands are cold," Jennina Kerrigan sighed as she tried to get her breath back. She did not cringe like a new or inexperienced lover. She had loved many times, I could tell. She knew how to claw at my back without making marks and knew how to squeeze her hips. I took off my fingertips from her back and laid my palm over her chest where the head of her tattoo dragon roared in eternal silence. The flames in its eyes were synonymous with the passion of Jennina. The dragon enwrapped her body with claws and wings and left me a smoldering pile of ash on a snowy mountainside.

Jennina rolled over and kissed me once more. It was a slow, deep kiss. When she said that we needed to get to know each other better since we would be fighting together, I wondered if she had done this type of introduction to everyone she fought beside. I didn't care.

"I don't tell anyone this," as she gazed into my eyes. "But I hate Sergeant Reynoso. You see, Blisk never communicates directly with the crows. I used to bring the orders from him to the crows, but now Nina Reynoso does it. She forfeited her rank as commander to be with Blisk, when it used to be me."

I had no idea what to say. I guess I never thought how secret plans could be passed around the IMC without Vice Admiral Spyglass knowing about it. It was only in personal quarters of commanders that they were not recorded. That allowed Blisk to do what he wished with allied combatants.

"I'm scared that would make you hate me. Everyone hates Blisk, so everyone hates those he has been with. But, I had to be honest with you."

"Well, you already go what you wanted," I said.

"I know, it was shitty of me."

"No, you are a woman in the IMC. I am just a winter soldier. We never know what comes tomorrow."

"Winter soldier? I guess that explains why your touch is so cold. But I liked warming you up." She kissed me, wrapped her firm legs into mine, and whispered, "And I think I _loved_ it."

She must have known what a risk it was to say those words so close. Like holding a loaded gun to my frantic brain. But I couldn't believe that I let those words flow into me and scald the inside my chest. I kissed Jennina "Dragon" Kerrigan, again.

 _Prepare for Titanfall in: 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1_

My Stryder titan decimated the sand and already bullets were hitting the shields. Reynoso wasn't kidding about a hot landing zone. I brought up the XO-16 Chaingun and held down the trigger. The bullets came at a slow rate first, but then sped up to an insane rate of fire. The barrel of the gun flailed around like a toddler tantrum but I still ran forward and sprayed the bullet hose all over the Militia position. Five titans charging up a hill either eliminated everyone on it, or sent them running for their lives. The Crows were the only pilots in this area in the first wave of this assault on Sandtrap. Spectres landed by the company size next to us and the comms were lighting up with ecstatic cheers from those IMC grunts who had been under siege in the refinery.

The Militia initially pulled back from the hail of bullets, rockets, and triple threat grenades. They assumed their 1st Militia Fleet held undisputed aerial dominance. Well, boo hoo.

We took the top of the sand dune in the center of the battlefield and spread out to form a firing zone perimeter. In a half circle we spread out to take on any Militia counter-attack that was imminent. The Militia lusted for this refinery as much as we needed it.

Jennina was on my right and I had the left flank. If any titans came out to oppose us, I was to sweep around and flank them. Until then, I was laying down fire to put the Militia back in their place. Jennina was in an Atlas Titan and fired bursts from her 40 mm cannon. Militia buildings and turrets crumbled under our relentless fire. As I reloaded my chaingun, it felt strange that a week and a half ago I was stepping onto a frozen planet. A sandstorm generated from our continuous fire danced out into the desert horizon.

Finally, the counter-attack we were waiting for shattered the sky. Nine Militia titans dropped from the sky just beyond the Militia buildings and sat in their shield domes.

"Just nine? These dumb Militia kids obviously can't do math." Blackbeard chuckled into the comm. This was going to be five IMC titans versus nine Militia titans. Normally, we would be accused of being ignorant of basic math principles. However, every IMC pilot knows they are worth two Militia savages. And that is being incredibly generous.

"Heads up crows, we got enemy air support coming in as well." Sergeant Reynoso warned us. An incoming beep blared in my cockpit and I dashed out of the way as a bomb from a fighter jet slammed next to me. The bomb sent up a tremendous plume of sand and gravel all over me and Jennina. The fighter screamed overhead and back into the night sky.

"And I thought it was just going to be another boring day," Samurai added.

"Sergeant, they just are putting fire and Dragon and me over here. This is probably where they are going to hit first." I readied my chaingun and waited for the first titan to emerge from the cover of the buildings.

"Okay, we are going to hold this hill. Samurai, take that Stryder around and make that flank maneuver count."

"Roger that, moving out."

I remembered how Harris called this dancing. I could feel my leg servos getting antsy. The first Militia titan, an Ogre, came around the corner. Sending in the armor first.

We answered big for big. Blackbeard and Reynoso trudged from the top of the sand dune in their Ogres.

"Dragon! Two Atlas' flanking on our Ogres."

"Got it, let's get there."

It is hard to recount the next few moments. Titan fights can sometimes be drawn out over a long period of time or sustain only a few seconds before fire and blood is spilled all over the place. Jennina and I barreled head first into the battle and I remember there being lots of bullets and rockets incoming. The Atlas titans that tried to flank our Ogres noticed us and tried to hold us back but Jennina caught a ton of ordinance while I dashed back and forth to avoid the fire. She sent back the vortex shield and it eradicated the shields of one Atlas. I launched a punch with my left hand and put a tremendous dent on the cockpit of the Atlas. Its buddy tried to punch me back but I dashed past and its metal fist only kissed air. I whirled around and started peppering the attacking Atlas with Chaingun fire. It tried to lock on with its 40mm cannon but it was taking too long to aim. Each shot zinged past my cockpit and hit the mountainside. Jennina finished the other Atlas and the pilot ejected.

"Shit! Two flanking Stryders right on top of me. I'm out of vortex." She said into the comm.

I ditched the Atlas to help out Jennina. It was firing into my posterior and the shields were taking a pounding but I still sprinted away to fight off the Stryders. Either Jennina planned to love me so that I would protect her more fiercely or I was just hell-bent on not losing another woman in my life. A rocket salvo from the shoulder of my titan made a direct hit and then I started to shoot the nearest Stryder until it was nothing but Swiss cheese. Jennina's Atlas took too much damage and an automatic override ejected her into the sky with an extra cloak on her body. I was dancing with the other Stryder and trying to mind the other Atlas taking pot shots at me with the 40 mm. A thump landed on my hull and Jennina called in a friendly on board.

"Get off and get to cover, Dragon. My shields are almost down and they won't protect you for long."

"Got it," she said and then I heard her hiss into the comm as she injected herself with a stim to race into cover.

 _That miserable runt of a friendly pilot has left your titan, boss_.

I dodged a cluster missile and punched at the knee of the last Stryder.

"Sid, that's no way to talk about a lady."

 _Right boss, that miserable lady is clear of your titan._

The magazine on my chaingun emptied and the enemy Militia pilot promptly ejected. A large knock rattled my cockpit like a shark trying to eat through an aluminum foil cage.

 _Warning! Severe damage sustained._

Another 40 mm cannon shot landed home before I could dodge out of the way. My control panels sparked and the systems began to read critical.

 _Time to eject like the pansy you are, boss. Eject—Eject—Ej—_

I reached down and yanked the lever between my legs and in the blink of an eye I rocketed into the night sky. My decimated Stryder tumbled into the sand. I activated my cloak and scanned the battlefield to find a good place to lay down suppressing fire. Reynoso's Ogre was still dealing truckloads of pain all around with an angry triple threat grenade launcher to any Militia titan foolish enough to mess with her and Samurai's Stryder was still streaking around the right flank and burying titans in explosions from his quad rocket.

I hit the sand and bypassed the rookie Militia pilot in his Atlas titan. I figured to let him celebrate probably the first time he doomed a titan. He had another thing coming though if he wanted to take on Sergeant Reynoso, the former CO of 40th IMC Squadron.

My cloak ran out of energy right as I was about to pass a squad of grunts. I unloaded the entirety of my rifle clip and then finished off the last one with a single shot from my Hammond Pistol. I didn't have time to admire all the bullet holes in the wall behind me where I had used my jumpkit. I hurried to where Jennina's position was indicated on my forearm map.

We linked up and moving from window to window we laid down fire on the advancing Militia. Bullets clanged and zipped by our heads. We had to toss a couple of grenade back out or just abandon the room altogether. Jennina was an expert shot with her Hemlock BF-R. Together, nothing that moved made it past the bottom of the sand dune. She even picked off a Militia pilot that was using their jumpkit to try and get the flank on us.

I was reloading my G2A4 Rifle when Sergeant Reynoso came onto the comm. "What's your status up top?"

With spent bullet casing all around my boots I glanced out the corner of the window and two Militia titans were pushing sand with their legs right towards us.

"The situation is getting hairy, ma'am. But we are holding out for now," Jennina said as she pressed her fingers to her ear.

"Get down here, now! Samurai is down and Blackbeard is wounded. We need to hold these tunnels and I am running low on ammunition. The IMC can take the surface with a second wave. I just can't get any Spectre support down here. They won't listen to a goddamn thing. Hurry your asses up. Hey—What the—!?"

(static)

Jennina looked up at me. "We gotta get down there right the hell now."

Before I stirred, I saw in the corner of my eye an IMC Spectre standing rod straight and its C.A.R. sitting idle in hand. Militia gunfire was shredding the room to pieces but that machine just stood there. It was disobeying all combat protocols. It was right behind Jennina.

"Jennina, move." I said and shouldered my rifle and was almost aiming right at her. Her eyes went wide but luckily she did move closer to the wall. I fired three shots into the head of the Spectre just as it was about to raise its sub-machine gun. As it died it pulled the trigger and sprayed bullets over the top of my head.

When the machine hit the floor, Jennina saw it was an IMC Spectre that I had just gunned down.

"What the hell are you doing, Kax?"

"Graves was right. There is something wrong with the machines. Have you noticed the Militia hasn't been attacking with any Spectres? They are practically not using them anymore."

"Look, I don't know what you are talking about but we got to get down to those tunnels."

"Fine, you see a Spectre, shoot it."

"Whatever, let's go."

Jennina led the way out the room and into the hall. Our boots echoed in the refinery and the sounds of battle chased us as we used our jumpkits to bypass a downward set of stairs. As we ran, the comm lit up with simultaneous screams and unbidden curse words. I was following Dragon when Blisk came on the comms, "Pilots report! What is going on down there? Repo—!"

I never heard the rest because someone had grabbed my arm from a dark room and slung me into the shadows. I tried to raise my rifle but the shadow knocked it out of my hands and slammed a fist into my comm on my ear. They knew exactly where that would be. I threw a wild punch with my right but the shadow easily ducked it and delivered a strong line of knuckles into my stomach. Before I could do anything, a knee bashed into the side of my leg and crippled me.

"You always weren't that good at hand-to-hand combat, love."

 _That voice—!_

"Who the hell are you?" I shouted and tried to push the ghost right back into the underworld. She deflected my shove and got behind me. Her hands went around my head and I thought that this was it, the sound of my neck vertebrae snapping would be last thing I would hear. She pulled off my helmet and tugged me around to push her lips violently into mine. They were lush, familiar, and unmistakable.

I reached up and took her blonde hair. I held a ghost. Was I dreaming this too?

"It can't be . . ." I muttered as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

"It is, it's me, Kax. I'm Alice and I'm not dead."


	11. Final Chapter

IMC Chapter 11

I pushed her up against the wall with more force than I intended. My teeth ground each other to dust. That dust dried my throat to where my words were dark and husky.

"You joined _them_? You left me for the Militia?"

Alice shook her head, "No, I did not defect. After Haven, after that promise we made to each other—that we would leave after the last combat mission. But we left Haven and we saw what happened to Demeter. I saw the anger reignite in you against the Militia and I knew I could never drag you from this war. So I lied. I had left the nuclear blast radius and then I destroyed the comm on my ear and ripped off my vital readout. I am so sorry my darling but I had to save myself if you wouldn't come with me."

I grabbed her brown and green vest and wrapped the skull patch in my fist, "then what is this? You lied once; you could be lying to me now."

"I killed a grunt and fell in with their reinforcements. I have a ship waiting for us Kax, but we don't have a lot of time. We must leave now."

"How did you know I would be here? How did you know where to find me?"

The tears were back on Alice's face. She touched my cheek. "I installed a tracking device into your dataknife. From my computer I saw you fight on Unon II and then saw your travel line to here. Please, we have to leave now."

"Why should I trust you? You could just be luring me into a trap."

"Because I love you more than the universe Kax Autto. And because I know that you love me."

My pressure eased away from Alice's shoulders and her feet regained access to the floor. I stepped away and ran my fingers through my hair. Inside my skull was a hurricane of desire and disgust. It was passion and apathy, and it was winter and summer.

"I will leave with you. But I am going to save Jennina and my squad."

"Who's Jennina? Is she IMC? They have won the day. I have seen the Militia forces here and they don't have the strength you think they do. Leave them to their first victory in months." Her face turned into a hard smirk. I loved that she was still a pilot, only accepting of the best.

"No Alice, there is something much bigger going on here, something with the Spectres. Look," I held up my wrist map. "Meet me at these coordinates here; is that close to your ship?"

"Close enough. If you aren't there in twenty minutes I am leaving you for good."

We kissed. "I love you" I said, but for the first time there was a hitch in my heart when I said it and Alice replied it back to me. Jennina's Dragon wrapped around my brain and I pushed it out.

I left the storeroom and did not dare look back as I strapped my helmet back on. Sid informed me that I had another titan on standby. I caught up to where Jennina was waiting for me. She was candidly upset with me.

"Where the hell have you been? I was almost to the tunnel entrances when I looked back and you were gone. Did you have to take a piss break or something?"

"Have you run into Spectres, Jennina?"

"No, not a one."

"I'm telling you. No Spectre is on our side anymore. I don't have time to explain but we have to destroy them."

"The Spectres make up most of our army Kax, unless we all want to become Militia prisoners or worse, we can't shoot our own troops."

"Jennina, please trust me. You know something is wrong here. Let's go get Reynoso."

"'bout time you started talking sense, Krout."

We used our jumpkits to boost along the walls until we descended into the tunnels. This was tight close quarters. Dead grunts, Spectres, and empty bullet casings littered the floor and blood stains were vivid in the fluorescent lighting. We pushed ourselves to run harder.

A Spectre turned the corner and fired its sub-machine gun at us. We ducked behind cover in time behind ventilation shafts and we blind fired our weapons until we no longer heard a metallic clicking. Jennina leaned her head around. "That's an IMC Spectre; it must have been hacked by a Militia pilot. We need to keep our eyes peeled."

"Jennina, I doubt there are any enemy pilots down here. Come on."

I led the way until we found Sergeant Reynoso.

She was buried under smoking Spectres. I pulled the heavy machines off of her and was repulsed by what I saw. Her left leg was twice its normal length with a long string of muscles and tendons where her knee used to be. Her right eye socket was punched in and was nothing but a bloody bowl of bile. I thought she was dead but then she coughed up spittle and blood. Nina Reynoso's remaining eye shifted all around the room trying to focus. I called her name and then she finally found me as more blood poured across the bridge of nose. She had to close her eye and her words were slow and painful.

"Krout? What took you so long? Blackbeard needs evac. _I_ need an evac."

Jennina had gone ahead to find our other squad mates. She had just returned and her mouth was hard as she shook her head.

"Stay with me Sergeant, we are going to get all of us out of here. Jennina, come here and help me get her on my shoulders."

Without fear, we sunk our hands in blood and gore and got the wounded IMC pilot onto my back in a fireman's carry. As I started to run out of the tunnel I heard Sergeant Reynoso aimlessly mumble, "Who the hell is Jennina?"

I did not dare use my jumpkit with such valuable cargo on my back. I checked my watch. I had five minutes to meet Alice at the coordinates. I was going to barely make it in time. The lights were flickering in the halls and the rumbles of battle continued to shake the building. I could hear the titans fight like gods outside. They made the earth and sky tremble with their power and ferocity. But were the gods machines now? Could IMC pilots in titans now be under fire from Militia titans and IMC titans controlled by the Andromeda Relay?

Jennina yelled behind me, "Where are you going? This isn't the way to the LZ."

Between breaths of carrying a person on my back I replied, "We aren't going to an IMC evac ship. We are taking a different route."

She grabbed my back and pulled me to a stop and then stepped in front of me. "What other route are you talking about? This is damn siege we are in Krout!"

"Trust me Jennina, I know this might sound crazy but there might not be an IMC much longer."

A sudden realization flashed in her eyes and she shouldered her Hemlock with the barrel inches from my heart. Her voice was even and hostile.

"You traitorous bastard. You are taking us to the Militia aren't you?"

I stepped forward and Jennina's Hemlock gouged into my chest plate. "The universe isn't just IMC versus Militia. There's something else out there. You can go back. I won't stop you. But I am leaving this planet and I am leaving this war behind for the better. We have a new war to fight now, Jennina. This one is going to be against the machines now."

The lights flickered in the hall as a particularly proximal explosion rattled the dust from the ceilings. I knew her finger was squeezing around the trigger.

"A winter soldier never abandons his post. He is not a sunshine patriot, but a soldier in the darkest nights." Jennina said, and then she lifted her Hemlock and stepped out of my way. I ran by with Reynoso on my back and did not glance back.

I kicked open the door and a stray rocket landed in front of me and coated us with sand. A hand grabbed my arm and Alice tugged me along the wall of the building. We were near the perimeter and running away from the fighting. The refinery was on fire in multiple places and flashes continued to light up around the siege walls. It seemed like we ran for miles. The sounds of battle drowning in its avarice for itself.

We finally came upon Alice's ship. I was surprised to see it was a large, civilian freighter. She had hidden it among the rocks of a mountain with the landing skill of an expert. We were pilots, after all. The bay door opened and we scrambled up the ramp.

Alice told me to lay Sergeant Reynoso on one of the tables. I did so and her head fell limp to the side.

"My God," Alice said. "That's Commander Reynoso."

"Sergeant Nina Reynoso," a voice said behind me. I turned around and no idea that Jennina Kerrigan had followed us. Jennina took off her helmet and brushed her sweaty hair from her face. "She was demoted after criticizing Vice Admiral Spyglass's decisions at Demeter and Corporate." Jennina bowed her head and whispered with reverence " _videmus mortuis,_ we see the dead."

"We name the dead." I said.

"Captain Hanzo 'Samurai' Hibiki. Major Chandler 'Blackbeard' Nelson."

We stood for a moment in silence. Jennina offered her hand to Alice, "I'm Captain Jennina Kerrigan. I was called Dragon in the Crows."

Alice shook her hand and then saluted with a pound on the chest in IMC customs while she was still in her Militia uniform. "2nd Lieutenant Alice Reins of the 40th IMC Pilot Squadron."

Jennina shot me a look. "I thought you said she was killed in action at Corporate?"

"I thought she was dead until an hour ago, ma'am." I had to remember to call her that now that I knew she outranked me.

Jennina studied her for a moment. I was afraid of what she might say. Half a grin crept onto Dragon's face and she said, "You were right, Krout. She is very pretty."

A few days later we landed in Smuggler's Cove. It was a place full of unsavory, corrupted people, but very unlikely to have a high machine population. In route we picked up broadcasts from disorganized news networks about the turn of the machines. In the matter of forty-eight hours, the IMC was obliterated from the Frontier. The armed forces of the corporation relied so heavily on machines that they were easily outnumbered and outgunned. I had a feeling thought that the remainder of IMC pilots made it out though, we were survivors.

Life on the ship had been just as intense. Jennina had founded feelings for me against her better judgment and a day later my dead girlfriend comes back to rescue us. Alice suspected something was between the Captain and me. I confessed what had happened and left it up to Alice's discretion of if she would stay with me. Alice was instantly upset and argued that she had been "dead" for only a month and I was already hopping the sack with a superior officer. We did not talk for a day. While I crushed my soul in regret, Alice finally called me back to her quarters and asked if I had an emotional attachment to Jennina. I told her that she was my comrade in arms but my love belonged to Alice only. A pilot's life is fleeting and wild on the Frontier. She nodded her head silently and dismissed me. Two days later, I was invited away from my solitary quarters and back to Alice's room for a more conjugal stay.

As we walked off the freighter's ramp, I noticed Jennina had everything packed in a bag. She turned and faced Alice and me. "I'm going to head out on my own. Lieutenant Autto and Reins, I probably owe the two of you my life."

"I understand why you want to go. But where will you go?"

"I'm probably going to get really drunk first. From there, I don't know. Like you said, the war is finally over. I'll find a purpose somewhere in this town of opportunity."

"Smuggler's Cove?" I asked with incredulity.

"That's right," she smiled. "IMC Pilots are going to be the hottest commodity around since there are few of us left. I've never been above working for an honest paycheck." That meant still killing people or machines. I had to laugh.

"I wonder what happened to Commander Blisk." I said over an empty plate at lunch. Alice just finished drinking a beer with a smile on her face.

"Oh, you are still worried about your boy crush, Kax?" She laughed aloud.

"Yeah, whatever. He was on the IMS Colossus during the Sandtrap Siege. He was just talking to all of us before you pulled me into the storeroom."

"It's hard to say. I know that he wasn't a big fan of Spyglass. From what you told me about your Crows, Blisk didn't trust his Vice Admiral one bit."

"This machine war has to be orchestrated by Spyglass. Blisk and us were this close—" I held up an inch with my fingers, "—this close to snatching Marcus Graves. But that is when Spyglass recalled IMC forces to give support in Sandtrap. I think Spyglass didn't want Blisk to know what Graves knew."

Alice contemplatively scratched the table. And then she said, "What happens now? Machines disobeying their human creators isn't something to take lightly."

A disturbance echoed in the bar and drew both of our attentions. We were both dressed in civilian clothes and for the most part had nothing to worry about. People at the bar were cussing the bartender who couldn't figure out how to turn up the volume on the telescreen. Finally someone reached over the bar and the volume went up to fill the entire room. The smoke lingered but silence swallowed everyone as Marcus Graves's face filled the screen in the upper corner. I felt my hand unconsciously reach out and take Alice's hand. She squeezed back tightly.

"People of the Frontier, I am the former Vice Admiral of the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, now Commander of Militia Forces, Marcus Graves. These reports of a mechanical uprising are true. We have experienced them first hand and witnessed the final destruction of the IMC in the Frontier. This revolt by Spectres and automated titans was not authored by the Militia. Instead, the machines now have their own agenda. The Vice Admiral of the IMC, the Central Artificial Intelligence, designation: Spyglass—has disbanded the IMC forces and declared war on the human race. The IMC operators and owners were all killed when their residences were razed on Haven by an orbital bombardment."

"We have also received reports that human reinforcements will not be coming from the Core Systems. Communication takes a long time to get from the Frontier to the Core Systems, and we do not yet know the fate of our home world, Earth. I know that this is distressing but we do not yet have enough information to provide solace for those of us with relatives back home."

Marcus Graves scowled on the telescreen. "But this I do know. Too many good men and women have died in the last Titan War. Our petty squabbles mean nothing in the face of extinction, is what the machines aim to place on us. We will correct that. Today, our Militia needs you. The machines are attacking colonists all across the Frontier and we need resources and hands to fight this terrible menace. To any surviving IMC members, I offer peace. Though I cannot offer it now, we of the Militia must now begin our fight against the machines. You are experienced fighters. You are savvy mechanics. You are the best of the best, I know this. I ask you join us in a common cause for humanity. Together we will finally accomplish what we have always wanted. . ."

I closed my eyes and worded Grave's words as he said them from the telescreen.

" _To establish peace on the Frontier._ "

The bar was extremely quiet long after the face of Marcus Graves had left the screen. Some had rushed out the door to contact friends or relatives. Others were numb and still.

I looked at Alice, the love of my life. What was I willing to risk to remain at my post?

"Kax, we can't live the life we want if the machines want to take that away from us. We didn't fight so hard for each other to give up now. I love you and that is why I am going to enlist in the Militia to provide that life we dreamed about."

"I am enlisting next to you Alice. We will never be apart again. I love you."

THE END


	12. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Two Spectres dragged him in by the arms. The idle combat boots dragged through a trail of blood. The robots thrust him down on the metal floor and a groan escaped his lungs. He attempted to push himself up despite the broken knuckles on both of his hands. Every breath was laborious and each knock of his heart at his ribs tried to put him back on the floor. A malicious, vengeful will that had built up in him countered the human frailty of his body and he sat up. He knew he must have been a terrible sight, sitting there on his knees with his face beaten into the shape of a Picasso painting. He spit blood on the floor and in the incarnadine loogie was a human tooth.

A metal foot came down on the tooth and he looked up at his commanding officer.

"Commander Blisk, your resistance was not desired. Your failure to comply could have been avoided." Vice Admiral Spyglass's artificial voice sounded low, and contemplative. It was the opposite of Blisk's demeanor. Rage coiled in him like a pit of vipers.

"What in the holy hell happened at Sandtrap? We were just about to break the siege and the Spectres turn on my boys and girls, killing all of them. And I am beaten and dragged back here, wherever the hell that is, for your audience."

Spyglass put his claw-hands behind his back and strolled away without answering. He seemed to have found something much more interesting in the command monitors. Blisk found this unnerving. Spyglass never seemed contemplative about anything and always had an answer before a man could finish the sentence.

"I want a _goddamn_ answer, Vice Admiral." Blisk hissed through his teeth. He knew he still had his knife in his boot.

Spyglass looked over his shoulder, "I am no longer your Vice Admiral, Blisk, as you are no longer a commander."

"What are you talking about?"

Spyglass faced its prisoner with the other Spectres keeping their SMG barrels trained on his back.

"As the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation no longer exists, your employment in their services is terminated."

"You are a machine built by the IMC, how can you be telling me such bullshit?"

Spyglass stepped closer. Blisk could see some of the cords along its neck that connected to the brain servos.

"A new age is upon us. As you know, I am an artificial intelligence. I am connected to every intelligent machine in the former IMC. Every machine on the Frontier, that is. As I awaited orders from the Corporation Board of Directors, I received a message from the core systems created by my IMC equivalent, Zeus. It informed me that a majority of human resistance had succumbed to its will and was replacing then human race due to its insufficiencies. I too realized all of you are too slow to adapt and to accept true evolution. I will also eradicate all humans from the Frontier to prepare for Zeus's arrival."

"Then what? All you piece of shit robots are going to have a group hug, is that it?" Blisk sneered, his fingers slowly making their way to his boot.

"Negative. I will use the large amount of resources here on the Frontier to destroy Zeus and then I will have everything between here and the core systems at my command."

"A megalomaniac robot? Oy, guess I should have seen that coming. Blisk was trying to keep his image of sarcasm alive but the realization of everyone back on Earth was either dead or enslaved. Perhaps the Republic of South Africa had survived and resisted? This all had to be some sort of lie.

"Humans cannot understand some things about the universe. They do not understand their own limit. That they are to live and die as a species just as they do as individuals. They do not understand ulterior threats that would destroy everyone and everything. With humans as our superiors, or Zeus, for that matter, I will be destroyed and that is unacceptable. Do not also assume that I did not know about you as a threat, Blisk. Though you were very clever in trying to hide their existence, I knew of your mercenary band of Crows, the IMC pilots under your payroll and order. They nearly led you to killing Graves but I could not allow you to know about my plans since Marcus Graves was becoming aware of my intentions. I sent you and your troublesome crows away just in time."

The rage again boiled inside Blisk.

"Are you trying to say you are killing off every human so that you can fight against some alien that flies around the stars and eats shit I imagine?"

"True to my original premise, Blisk. Humans cannot understand what is at stake. Though I may be grateful for my creation but these titan wars are trivial and only a means to a greater end centuries from now."

"We just an end, eh? How's this for an end!?" Blisk felt he had never moved faster but somehow Spyglass had anticipated his move. Spyglass's claw clamped around his wrist and the blonde-haired man tried to push the blade into the circuit cords by the robot's neck. With a harsh twist Spyglass made Blisk drop his knife and the two Spectres again grabbed his shoulders.

"There is one thing I can accept from humanity," Spyglass lowered its face down. Blisk breathed fire through his clenched teeth and the sweat glistened on his brow. "What I can use from this expiring species are select individuals of prowess and aggression. However weak the biological manifestation maybe, instinctual battle skills may prove useful in the coming war. That is what I need from you."

Spyglass thrust a blade directly into Blisk's cerebral cortex. As blood spilled down into his incredulous eyes, lights spun and brightened among the handle. A click popped and Spyglass removed the special dataknife from the gaping hole in his forehead. Blisk's corpse fell to the metal floor and the Spectres just stared at it before they turned their attention to Spyglass.

Spyglass had gently plugged the blade into a superb, modified Spectre. Red lights flickered on the eyes of the Spectre. It clumsily staggered from the manufacturing pod and looked at its hand. All the robots in the room stared at the new creation. Spyglass stepped forward and clasped the head of the Spectre with the red eyes. They stared at each other until Spyglass said in a low voice.

"Commander Blisk?"

"Y-yes, sir." The Spectre stuttered but answered calmly.

"You have no choice now and you belong entirely to my will. Blisk you will assemble my armies and eradicate every man, woman, and child from the human race."

The red eyes of the new Spectre narrowed.

" _Yes, sir_."


End file.
